Let It Go
by Wild Concerto
Summary: "Be the good girl, you always had to be." Since her childhood, Céleste de Chagny, Raoul's sister, had all the pressure of the world on her frail shoulders, and was kept from realizing her dreams. Now, maybe something will help her to simply let it go and be herself. Based on ALW and a bit of Kay and Leroux.
1. Prologue

**Hey everybody!**

**This is my very first fanfic, so I really hope you'll enjoy it. I must admit I'm not English-speaking, but French to be more precise, so I'm really sorry if there are any grammar mistakes. I'm usually pretty maniac when it comes to those things. I manage well in English, but once again, I'm sorry if there are any mistakes. I'm trying to make this as well written as I can possibly do. So I'm presenting here my OC, I hope you'll like her! And yes, part of my inspiration for her comes from Elsa in Frozen. Boy do I love that movie. And Elsa is just gorgeous, don't you think?**

** For the updates, I'll try to do it at least once in two weeks, though I do hope I will get to update more often. I can have a very charged life sometimes, in another moments, it can be very relax, it will depend, actually!**

** So, just to make it easy for the ages… Erik was rescued by Mme Giry when he was 9, and she was 16. He left the Opera wen he was 17 (to go to Persia and everything), then came back in his late twenties. He's about thirty-five by now. Céleste is 23-25 years old, Raoul is 21 and Christine 19-20. So here you go. I don't really like the idea of Erik being 50-60 so… Here you go.**

**Have fun reading!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any characters coming from Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom of the Opera, nor anything coming from Susan Kay's novel, except for the OC, of course. **

* * *

**Prologue**

In his bare hand, Erik was clutching the engagement ring against his heart. It was all that was left from _her_. All the music that she used to create in his mind, so he could give birth to it with a bit of ink on paper, was gone too.

_It's over, now, the music of the night._

That sentence was just so true. Everything in him was empty. It was even worse than the time where he was mistreated by the gypsies, whipped just for the pleasure of hearing his screams, and seeing the twist of pain which appeared of his deformed face. It was even worse than when he had to please the Shah's daughter by killing innocent people. At all these times, he felt so empty. It was like if his own soul was gone. It was a terrible feeling. His soul was the only thing that actually convinced him that he wasn't just the monster that the woman who was apparently his mother had shown him once, in the mirror. And at all these times, with the gypsies, at the Shah's palace, he had felt like a beast or a monster, just good to be put on display and to amuse the gallery with cruelty. Really, it was nothing else that that.

But now, right now, the woman he loved was gone. Her voice, so ethereal, was gone also. And now, he just felt more cursed than ever. No one would ever love him. He was born to be alone forever. Maybe he wasn't even a man, like he always tried to convince himself. Maybe he was just a beast, after all. No, not even that. A _thing_.

Yes, Christine was already quite frightened when she saw her face, her damned curiosity pushing her to unmask him. It was absolutely ridiculous from him to think such a thing, but he had hoped that she would have accepted it. Ignorant fool. _He_ was the ignorant fool. After that came Joseph Buquet. That man always drove him crazy. Drunk, doing… stuff with not very prude ballerinas, terrifying the others and sometimes trying to abuse them when he was quite drunk, causing so much trouble to Antoinette Giry, and especially, too curious for his own sake. That man deserved to die. That was all.

Then Piangi… Well, he was sort of in the way. At first, Erik only wanted to knock him out for a while, just to take his place for the time that he needed it. Everything was just so perfect. The notes of the opera were all well in their place, the casting went just as he expected it to be, and now, he was going to seduce Christine for good, and in the perfect context. Yes, he saw it all with his artistic eye.

But let's just say that for Piangi, instead of knocking him off, he had hit the nape of the neck, breaking it and making him die. That was an accident. The poor man didn't really disserve to finish up like that. Especially that while he was running up with Christine, he could hear La Carlotta sobbing in the most insupportable way.

Talking about those murders… He could hear the angry mob coming up his way, towards his lair. For a moment, he wanted to stay there, and let all those people rip him into pieces. A quick death, and all that pain was over. Then he looked around him. He looked at the Punjab lasso who had served to almost kill the fop a few minutes earlier. Then the Christine dummy caught his eye. Really, was he going to finish up like that, that miserably, after all he had been through?

No. He had to make that fop pay for what he did. After that, he could die in peace. He felt inside him that Erik Destler, the man who loved Christine Daaé, who was her angel of music, who wanted simply to be treated like a normal person, was gone. The Phantom of the Opera remained alone. And he wasn't done with his reign of terror.

With an evil smile, he finally got up, still clutching Christine's ring in his hand. With the other, he handled a lever which closed hermetically his lair with a special metal door. Lifting another lever, he caused the water in the underground of the Opera Populaire to gain level. The mob was going to be obliged to go back, or to get drowned.

Yes, the Opera Populaire hadn't heard the last word of him. That was for sure.

* * *

"We are so very grateful of all your help, Mademoiselle de Chagny. Your students, I am sure, will regret you very much."

Céleste de Chagny did a quick bow at the mother superior, with a little smile. Yes, she had actually enjoyed teaching for a year in that school, learning probably as much as her students did, though not quite in the same way. It had been a great experience, learning from the kindness and at the same time of the severity of the nuns. But at the same time, she was tired of wearing all those black, grey and brown dresses. She was in for a little more color, in the next few months…

"With all this, Mademoiselle, have you thought of your vocation?"

Céleste lifted her blonde head, taken aback by the mother superior's question. Yes, she had enjoyed her time passed here. But to become a nun was a different thing. She admired those women, who had the courage and grace to give entirely their lives to God and to the instruction of those girls. But for her, do that for the rest of her entire life? It was a sacrifice she wasn't willing to make. She had accepted, with her brother Philippe's pressure, to teach in that school. Their old aunt, in her will, had established Céleste as her only heiress, at the condition she would work for the convent as a teacher. A beautiful dowry and a great marriage were awaiting her if she accepted. And though she felt an inner rebellion which, of course, she didn't show, as usual, she actually took pleasure living with the kind nuns and their students, all so unique in so many ways.

She didn't need to answer. The nun, with a smile, showed that she guessed Céleste's inner thoughts.

"God can call us to stay in the world. And I hope you will do well in everything you do."

Céleste had a little smile.

"Thank you, Mother Marie-Anne."

Later, as the carriage drove through Paris, smoke lifting up in the air caught Céleste's attention. Soon, as she passed in front of the Opera Populaire, she saw that it had partially burned. Gasping, remembering that her younger brother Raoul was a patron there, she promised herself to ask him how all of that had happened.

But she had no idea of the surprise that was awaiting her…

* * *

**So of course, the first thing I will be asking you is a little review! It would really make my day, and I will take the time to answer them all, promise! Positive, negative, I accept them all!**

**After, well, as you can see, there isn't any cover. Of course, Céleste will be on the cover. But I'm looking for a celebrity that could fit her well. I said that one of my inspirations for her was Elsa in Frozen. Well, which of these celebrities fits Elsa/Céleste better?**

**Natalie Dormer? Holliday Grainger? Jessica Stam?**

**Any other ideas? I want to hear it from you! See you soon!**


	2. Chapter 1

**Hello again!**

**Answers for reviews:**

**Anonymous: **Thank you so much for following! And I do hope I will not disappoint you… or anybody else!

**So I decided instead of not putting a celebrity on my cover but to find something on Deviantart instead! Thanks to Skylilyart for her extrodinary drawing!**

**Have fun reading!**

**Disclaimer: Beside my OC, Céleste, I do not own any of the characters from ALW's Phantom of the Opera. Philippe de Chagny, coming from the Leroux novel, belongs to the public domain.**

* * *

**Chapter 1**

****As the carriage stopped in front of the Chagny's hotel, Céleste could already feel that her home was in an uproar. And soon, when a maid opened, bowing in the most nervous way, with nobody else, and not even her brothers were there to greet her, she had to know what on Earth was going on. After an absence of a year, she felt like an unwelcomed stranger in her own home. Quickly, she ordered the maid to help unpack her trunk. Lifting her grey skirt up to walk faster, she rushed into the living-room, to meet Philippe, her older brother, looking tensed and tired.

"Céleste," he started with a grin, when he saw her coming in. "I'm so sorry I couldn't be there to greet you, but as you can see, the whole house is going crazy."

"Yes, I can see that," answered Céleste coldly.

"Tell me, where is Raoul?"

"Um… Raoul is… busy," muttered Philippe, embarrassed.

"Oh… does that have anything to do with the Opera Populaire?" Said Céleste more calmly, hoping that nothing bad had happened. "I saw on my way that part of it had burned."

* * *

Céleste, when she was still in the convent, had heard that Raoul had become patron to the Opera Populaire. A wonderful idea, which even made her want to do the same when she was to be done with her teaching year. She had always loved arts, especially music… though she was never really encouraged to continue, when she was younger, to anything approaching it, to talk in a delicate way.

She even got permission to go to see _Hannibal _with Raoul, though she wasn't very pleased with the idea of hearing La Carlotta screeching notes more than singing them. But that evening, they had got a quite pleasant surprise: instead of La Carlotta, a young girl was singing Elissa's part. A girl she knew well, a few years ago: Christine Daaé.

To be perfectly honest, Christine Daaé and Céleste de Chagny had never really been friends. Already, only in appearance, they were total opposites. Christine had brown curls, an ingénue face and pink cheeks which made her look like a porcelain doll, and was sometimes a bit clumsy in her demeanor. Céleste was blonde, so blonde her hair was almost in a shade of silvery white. She had a very pale complexion, fine traits, which could sometimes seem a bit malicious when she smiled. And already, at a very young age, she had that natural grace in her movements that made so many girls envious.

When you got to know them better, even their characters were total opposites. While Christine was very sensitive, calm, cried easily, Céleste was an alert, active and mischievous little girl. While Christine loved the story of Little Lotte and of the Angel of Music, Céleste actually find it quite dull, compared to the much more exciting story of the Snow Queen. While Christine was dreaming of being the princess saved in her tower by a handsome prince, Céleste preferred imagining herself being the heroine who had many adventures, and never needed some prince to get her out of trouble.

It was more appropriate to say that Raoul was the one who was really playing and spending time with Christine. Céleste did follow them, but it was more to stay with Gustave Daaé, who was always present to their little games. Monsieur Daaé was so different from her own father. While her father was always stern and cold, always keeping a certain distance between his daughter and himself, paying a lot more attention at her brothers, Gustave Daaé was always caring, always ready to join in the children's games. He could see that Céleste was a bit apart from the others, and with time, he gained her confidence.

The time that Céleste liked most was when he took his violin and played for them. She was fascinated by all the sound which came out from so small a thing. Then, one day, she told Monsieur Daaé how much she appreciated it when he played. Then, with a smile, he had said those magical words:

"Do you want to learn how to play the violin?"

But all this was so far away. Almost fifteen years later, Céleste had seen Christine sing in _Hannibal_. She was surprised of seeing her there, all grown up into a beautiful young woman. Céleste had become beautiful, too. She actually looked quite like the Snow Queen in Gustave's tales…

Seeing her at the Opera Raoul had chosen to patron was quite a strange coincidence. Actually, she never took the time to know what happened to her after Gustave Daaé died. The violinist was, after all, pretty much her only connection. Though Christine and herself never fought, their relations had always been somehow distant and neutral. So she wasn't happy or displeased of seeing her as the new prima donna… not like Raoul, who looked simply amazed and, right after the representation, rushed towards her dressing room, without Céleste who could only disapprove such an initiative.

She knew her dear brother a bit too well to not realize that he was in love, hypnotized by the voice and the beauty of the siren called Christine Daaé. She hoped that all of this would stay in the state of an idyll, since she couldn't even _imagine _a Chagny doing such a misalliance, and that her firm Christian morality felt nothing but disgust imagining that the Daaé girl could become Raoul's mistress.

Then, back to the convent, she knew nothing else. After all, Raoul and Christine's engagement had been secret, even for Philippe himself.

* * *

Philippe didn't have the time to answer Céleste's question, for Raoul rushed into the room.

"Céleste! I'm so glad you are back!"

Raoul looked like he hadn't sleep for days. His hair was a mess, and purple circles were quite visible on his too pale face. Worried, like every older sister should be, she held Raoul's head in her hands, asking softly: "What happened? What's going on?"

Impatiently, she added:

"I am the lady of this house, and since I arrived, this house is a total mess! Tell me. What happened?"

"Céleste, please, we'll tell you everything." Raoul said finally, with tiredness in his voice. "But please, just sit down."

Céleste laid her grey dress around her as she sat, and crossed her hands on her knees. Exasperated by the awkward silence that followed, while Raoul and Philippe were looking at each other looking totally numb, she asked in a high voice: "Well?"

"You know the Opera Populaire burned last night." started Philippe calmly. "Well, the chandelier crashed down."

"Oh no," said Céleste, truly sorry. "And I suppose the managers have asked from Raoul an enormous sum…"

"No, that's not the problem." continued Philippe. "Not at all, believe me. A madman did all this. And you remember Christine Daaé? Your childhood friend, which you saw several months ago in _Hannibal_? The madman kidnapped her."

"Is… is she alright?" asked Céleste, feeling truly worried, though Christine had never really been her friend.

"Yes, she's fine. Raoul went to save her." Then, seeing Céleste's puzzled expression, he added: "They… They're engaged, Céleste."

Mlle de Chagny gasped, and looked at her brothers in the most incredulous way. This couldn't be… It couldn't be…

Then, finally, she got up, and said firmly, in a tone that permitted no objections.

"I want to see Mademoiselle Daaé. Now."

* * *

**So that was all! And I hope I will have more than one review next time, so… please? Review? **


	3. Chapter 2

**Hello again! Here's a new chapter for you guys! **

**I'm so happy that I got more reviews! Three! And good ones. =D**

**Answers to reviews:**

Mystery-Magician: Thanks! It's really encouraging, especially that I wasn't quite sure of my shot in the intro…

**Ingelode Wordsmith: **It creates quite a conflict, a de Chagny with the Phantom! Just to explain for Philippe, I went on the fact that since it was Raoul who is patron to the Opera Populaire and not himself, and since the engagement Raoul had with Christine was kept secret, Philippe didn't know much of what was going on until his little brother came back with Christine after the Final Lair. So it sort of explains it all. I always thought it was kind of lame that Philippe wasn't in the musical, but I can understand that he can be a bit useless… though he's more important for my story. But I never understood why the Persian/Daroga wasn't in the musical, because he's so awesome! Don't worry, I'll find a way to put him somewhere; you can be sure of it!

For the ages, Céleste did knew Christine when they were children, but since they're kind of opposites in character and that they have like five years separating them, Céleste didn't like her very much… It's not that she hated her, but… you see what I mean? And their actual relations will be much more developed in this chapter. ;)

And thank you VERY MUCH for correcting my little mistakes, I edited the last chapter and I think everything is ok now… XD

Well, thank you for your review, the long answer shows how much it is appreciated!

**newbornphanatic: **Yeah, I wanted Céleste not to be like Christine (her opposite, to be more precise.) I really like women in those gothic-type stories who can take care of themselves and don't have a damsel in distress behavior all the time (Take Christine, for example, or Lucy and Mina in Dracula (the book, not the TV series)). I'll admit it, like Céleste, I never liked Christine, without hating her, of course. To me, that little badass damsel element was always missing in POTO. And here's Céleste. =D

**Enjoy this chapter!**

**Disclaimer: Beside my OCS, I do not own any of the characters coming from ALW's Phantom of the Opera. Anything coming from Gaston Leroux belongs to the public domain.**

* * *

****

Chapter 2

****Immediately, Céleste rose on her feet, not even waiting for her brothers' answer to her request, or, to be a bit more precise, to her command. Too many things were shaking up in her hand. Raoul was such a sentimental child. Yes, he could claim as much as he wanted that he was twenty-one, that he was in age, and everything that came with it, it didn't matter to her. It had been like that since his childhood. Raoul lived in a sort of idealistic world coming straight from fairytales, a world that, a few years ago, he used to share with Christine. In those bit-too-marvelous adventures, Céleste never followed them: she preferred a world full of dangers and suspense. And even that was shattered from her.

Philippe, who was calmer, was the first to speak.

"Céleste, please, don't be too harsh on Christine and Raoul. They had a very hard time yesterday and…"

"Yes, all of that is very well, Philippe. But I can't believe that you accept that your brother, _our _brother, will marry the daughter of a violinist who died in misery, a… a chorus girl who was lucky enough to become a prima donna for a while!"

"Céleste, I…" Raoul tried to plead.

"Enough. I need to see Christine with my own eyes. If she is to be a member of my family, then I think I should get to meet her very soon." Celeste said coldly and abruptly.

Without further ado, she got out of the living room and stopped a maid who was dusting in the corridor.

"Tell me, Annette, where is Mademoiselle Daaé's room?"

Seeing the bad mood and the impatience of her mistress, the poor maid had no choice but to answer, even when she saw the defeated face of Raoul and Philippe almost pleading her not to tell, though that was absolutely impossible.

"I will take you to her, Mademoiselle."

While they were heading towards the room who was given for Christine, Céleste couldn't help of thinking of the past, almost fifteen years ago, though it was all moments she preferred to forget for good… or maybe not, since it hadn't been a day where she didn't feel a bit of sorrow about what happened then.

* * *

Gustave Daaé was an amazing violin teacher, but, most important of all, Céleste showed a real talent in music. She was so passionate about it, and showed so much emotion when she played. Sometimes, she even played for Christine and Raoul, and they were amazed by her. They were sometimes ready to admit that "she played as well as Daddy Daaé, but at the same time, no", which made Gustave laugh until he was almost crying, though the children didn't really know why.

Sometimes, M. Daaé even made the children sing. Christine and Raoul went very well together. They were soft, gentle, calming and emotional when they sang. Céleste's voice was different. It was vulnerable and so strong at the same time, mature though she was only ten back then. And sometimes, Gustave would talk a bit to Céleste about the possibility that she could have a music career, which made the little de Chagny dream in color, and enthusiast enough to talk about it to her parents.

But the Comte and Comtesse de Chagny came from the old school. It was a good solid fact. Simply horrified that their little girl could think of such a dishonorable thing, they decided that their daughter would cut all bonds with Gustave and Christine Daaé, though they still let Raoul go and play with the girl. That didn't have any risks, compared to Céleste.

The little de Chagny cried for hours when the sentence fell upon her. And she cried even more, the following day, when Raoul got to go and see Christine and Gustave while she had to stay at home. The parents used the reason that "she had to start her education". And it started in quite a hard way.

Soon, it was only lessons going on and on: dancing, the knowledge of all good manners at home and in the world, latin, greek, history, literature, and, the most important of all, the pride of being a Chagny, a noble family whose origins went as far as the 10th century. With the years, the mischievous little girl was so strongly tamed that an elegant, graceful, but cold and sometimes disdainful young lady took her place. But, deep inside, each night, Céleste would murmur a silent prayer for M. Daaé, wishing that one day, the violin lessons would continue. But one day, when she learned that Gustave had passed away, her whole inside world was shattered, and she resigned to be the perfect young lady, all graceful and posed, with the only ambition to make a great and rich marriage. But even then, she couldn't forget the last time she had touched the cold strings of the violin, which became so warm when she was playing on them, like if she was resurrecting the strings by the music that she produced.

M. de Chagny died when Céleste was only sixteen, followed about a year later by his wife. Since that day, Philippe, who was of ten years their eldest, was now in charge of all the Chagny estate, a job that he managed quite well. Meanwhile, Céleste was out in the world, going to balls and other events, much admired, sometimes asked in marriage, but none of the young men who presented themselves were worthy enough for Céleste. Well, that was what Philippe was saying. Then, an old aunt related to them on their mother's side died, leaving to Céleste all her fortune (which was quite considerable) at the condition that she would teach for a year in a convent.

Pushed by Philippe, though she was quite reticent at the beginning, Céleste actually appreciated very much her year. The nuns and most especially the girls had a gift of making her smile and to be more herself. But it was moments that lasted for too short of a time. They even made her sing in the choir, and the nun taking care of it even told her she had a beautiful voice. What she didn't tell her (so she wouldn't make her linger in vanity, of course), is that she even thought it was an exceptional gift that should have been developed. But Céleste was no more than a caged bird. A bird caged in a golden prison, where it could have anything it wanted: everything, except the privilege to fly in the sky with the other birds.

* * *

Without even knocking, Céleste entered Christine's room. Thankfully, the young Swedish girl was in a chair, all dressed and alone. Lifting up her head after a gasp of surprise, a little shy smile appeared on her lips when she saw Céleste come in.

"Céleste! It has been so long! How are you?" She immediately got up and walked towards Mlle de Chagny, but soon, was stopped by her cold looks.

"Mademoiselle Daaé," started Céleste quite formerly. "I'm happy to see that you are fine and in good health."

Christine looked on the ground, a bit embarrassed in front of Céleste, feeling that she wasn't too welcomed in the Chagny's hotel for what was of the lady of the house. But soon, Raoul, seeing how humiliated his fiancée was, stood up.

"That's enough, Céleste."

As expressionless as she was before, Mlle de Chagny turned towards her brother.

"Anything else to say?"

"Not here," hissed Raoul, taking his sister by the arm, leaving behind them a confused Christine who was quite on the border-line to cry, and a Philippe who didn't know if he had to stay in the room to keep her company or just leave her alone.

It took about half an hour for Raoul to tell everything to Céleste, everything about the mystery of the Phantom of the Opera. She was listening to every detail, paying very close attention to them. When he was finally finished, he said:

"You can now understand why Christine needs me, Céleste. And I need her too. I love her."

Céleste shook her head, unable to keep a sarcastic smirk.

"Well, your little Lotte has played her game well. Innocence is such a clever trap to get what you want, isn't it? She makes you believe you are the dashing prince who's going to save the poor damsel in distress who is actually quite conscious of what she is doing and what is going to happen."

"What do you mean, Céleste?" Raoul's tense voice answered.

"I don't think I have much to add, Raoul. Marry Christine if that pleases you. I won't have anything to say in the whole chapter anyway. I will pray for you so you will be happy with her, dear brother. You can do whatever you want, anyway. Not like some people."

Without further ado, Céleste got out of the room.

* * *

Her last words to Raoul just reflected all the bitterness that she felt. Life was unfair, and the worst thing of all of this was that she couldn't change anything about it. Fifteen years ago, her parents shattered her dream which, even today, seemed quite innocent. Now, Raoul was going to marry a Swedish girl, the daughter of some poor violinist, who was nothing more than a chorus girl who had her few months of glory, and was involved in an affair with some madman. Well, especially with that last element, Céleste wasn't even sure that Christine Daaé's reputation was entirely pure.

At the same time, even if it was really strange and sort of stupid of her, she felt her heart tightened at the idea of that pitiful creature of darkness, now left alone in the prison the world, at some point, unknowingly built for him, and couldn't help thinking that the way Raoul, and especially Christine had treated him was somehow cruel.

Shrugging at her own stupidity, she looked throughout the window of her room. She could see the Opera Populaire, and remarked that a quarter of it was quite burned. Then, seeing the newspaper on her night table, she could see that the front page was just about the fire which occurred just the night before.

Reading it, she just saw a resume of the story Raoul had told her earlier. But a title below caught her attention.

"_The Opera Ghost strikes again: twenty-three people are drowned in the underground lake of the Opera Populaire._"

That was new.

According to the article, the Phantom's lair was closed by heavy metal doors and, mysteriously, the level of the underground lake had risen. The angry mob that was coming towards the lair to tear the Opera Ghost in pieces for the fire and Piangi's death had to go back, but some of them weren't quick enough and got drowned.

It appeared like the reign of the Phantom of the Opera wasn't done yet. It was even stronger than ever.

* * *

**Here you are! And review… please please please? **


	4. Chapter 3

**Hello hello! New chapter and someone everybody loves is in it! YEAH! **

**Answers to reviews: **

**Willofthewisp62: **Thank you so much! That's really kind of you to say that.

**Enjoy this chapter!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters coming from ALW's Phantom of the Opera, beside Céleste, being my OC. Anything coming from Leroux's novel belongs to the public domain. **

* * *

**Chapter 3**

A few months later, a lot of things had changed.

First of all, the Opera Populaire had been rebuilt and reopened. A certain millionaire coming from Prussia and passionate about the supernatural had financed everything. Now, the Opera was back in business, and the hope of a glimpse of the Opera Ghost was for now on a sort of publicity for the theater, which wasn't to displease MM. Firmin and André, who actually didn't receive any notes from the Phantom since the reopening of the Opera. They were hoping that, heartbroken and not wanting to stay in a place charged with too many painful memories, he had fled towards another place, probably out of France since he was still wanted for the murders of Buquet and Piangi.

La Carlotta had left, refusing to stay any longer in the same Opera where her husband had been killed and her own life had been already risked. And, since Christine was absolutely refusing to have any sort of relationship with the Populaire, they had to find another Prima Donna. Fortunately, a young woman from Barcelona, in Spain, Ines Parilla, was given the job. She was a girl more fit for the appearances than for her singing. Yes, she was truly gorgeous, with her cat-like eyes with long lashes, but when she sang, there was simply no soul in it. Well, at least she didn't shriek like La Carlotta… But the managers and the public missed Mademoiselle Daaé, though some men said the show was better for the eyes with la señorita Parilla than with the prude and still childish Christine Daaé.

Secondly (which was pretty much obvious), Raoul married Christine. Both the bride and the groom were radiant that day, and though the entire engagement thing and the soon-to-come wedding had arrived quite abruptly, Philippe was actually quite pleased with his little brother's marriage, though Christine wasn't of his social rank. He had learned to appreciate the young Swedish girl, and even teased her from time to time.

Only Céleste seemed to stay apart from the whole family. Her relations with Christine hadn't got any better, without worsening. Mademoiselle de Chagny was still very polite, but stayed rigid and cold, refusing any warm contact and always talking about quite futile things like the weather, while Christine, at the beginning, had tried very hard to win Céleste's sympathy, at least.

"Raoul," Christine asked one night.

"What is it, my love?"

Christine took a deep breath before continuing. And even then, her soft voice shivered a bit.

"Does Céleste hate me?"

Raoul was shocked at the idea that Christine had been brought to make such a conclusion. Of course, he wasn't going to force his sister to be nice and kind with his wife, but to think that she hated her… Well, to be honest, yes, Céleste probably hated Christine. And Raoul knew a bit too well why. His sister was jealous of him.

It was true that his parents had been a lot more severe with Céleste than with him. While he had the opportunity of marrying his true love, he knew that probably wouldn't be the case with his sister. She would probably wed the man Philippe would choose for her. Raoul was confident that his brother would make sure Céleste would be happy with her husband, but… Still, he could understand how she felt, though he couldn't do much about it anyway. But Christine didn't need to know that.

"Well, just give her some time. Céleste has strong principles, especially on hierarchy, and most of all, she is stubborn. Keep on being kind with her; it's the best thing to do. But, to be honest, I don't think she'll stay here for a very long time."

"What do you mean?"

"Probably my brother will arrange a wedding for her very soon. With what she has received from our aunt after her teaching year, she has one of the richest dowries in Paris, not to say in France. And for Philippe, it is the perfect occasion to make a great alliance with a very good family. A duke as a husband could even be possible. But anyway, I think she'll want a house of her own. Céleste is quite independent, and a lot of sisters don't like having their brothers putting their noses in their things. And with us as brothers, I can understand that we can drive Céleste crazy."

With a teasing grin, he kissed Christine on her forehead, happy to see that after his little joke, he had made her smile again.

* * *

It was a bright end of summer afternoon when Céleste got out of the Chagny's hotel and headed towards the Champs-Élysées for a little walk. She didn't like staying at home, with Christine and Raoul just chattering around and being ridiculous, while Philippe thought they were actually quite cute. All of this was getting quite on her nerves, and she was just waiting for the day where Christine, tired of her little game, would crack up and Raoul would discover her real nature. But meanwhile, she played her role well. Until now, she had made no mistake, no failure. Could she be truly in love with Raoul? She couldn't believe such a thing, though with time, she realized it was becoming more and more obvious.

While she was lost in her thoughts, her gaze stopped on the Opera Populaire, who had re-opened for two months now. She looked at it, dreamily, and her idea of sponsoring it came back to her. She had always loved the arts, and she hoped that helping the artists could be a way of taking revenge on the fact that she could never be one. She was about to enter the Opera house when she suddenly remembered what had happened there to Christine and Raoul. Her brothers would probably go crazy if they knew she was now a patron. And all of that because what had happened to Christine. Christine. Always Christine.

Anyway, it wasn't really safe, especially with the Phantom who was probably still around, and who could maybe take his revenge on Raoul by using her. All of that because of Christine. Always Christine.

"Are you looking for something, Madam?"

Céleste turned around to see a young blonde girl looking at her with a nice smile.

"No… no… not at all. I'm… I'm happy to see that the Opera Populaire is back in business."

"I am also too," answered the girl. Especially that since the fire, we have never heard anything coming from the Opera Ghost."

"Really? Does… Does it mean he's gone, now?"

"Probably. The poor creature must have been heartbroken and couldn't stand staying there. No one has received any notes of him, not even my mother, who was the one who got those most of the time. Oh, by the way, I'm Marguerite Giry."

"Meg Giry? Hurry up, or we'll be late!"

Céleste and Meg turned towards the street, and saw a middle-aged woman dressed in black waiting in a carriage.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, that's my mother waiting for me." said Meg quickly. "Well… have a nice day!"

But Mlle de Chagny was too dreamy to answer the ballerina. Turning towards the Opera Populaire, she shrugged lightly and said to herself:

"I think I'll do it."

* * *

"I must say you come in at the time we need you most, Mademoiselle de Chagny."

Erik lifted his head just by hearing that cursed name. Chagny. That was the same name as the fop who had seduced Christine and taken her far away from him, never to see her again. Could the person standing there in MM. Firmin and Andre's office be related by any way to the vicomte?

"I am happy to see so. But please, if you ever come to encounter Philippe or Raoul, please don't tell them anything about it. My brothers would probably go mad just knowing I have something to do with the Opera Populaire."

It wasn't the Chagny brothers who were going to get mad, but certainly Erik. So now, after Raoul the fop, he had now his sister in HIS Opera house? Well, he wanted to have a good look at her first, just to know if she looked like his worst enemy.

She actually did. She was just a more feminine version of Chagny, who was already quite womanly himself. Her smile had somehow something mischievous, though her eyes and posture were cold and somehow haughty. Great. Just the pride which came out of her person was already really getting in his nerves. She seemed so rigid, though she looked so young. Her blonde hair was all tied up in a severe bun, though it was so beautiful. She would look so much better if her hair was just down, floating freely on her shoulders and behind her back… Wait a minute… What was he thinking? Was he actually thinking that she was actually beautiful? No. No way. Well, it was actually quite hard to deny that the Chagny girl was… well, gorgeous, though she seemed so cold and proud.

But he had promised himself, on the night of the fire at the Opera Populaire, that he would have his revenge. And the instrument of his revenge was right below him. He had stayed silent for many months, even with Mme Giry, who had tried many times to see him. But always, the entrances she used to take to go and meet him were completely shut. Erik had succeeded in taking care of himself, though he had to be extremely careful since his head was put on price. But now, since everyone had thought he had fled the country, he could take more liberties. Now, the managers, with the fire and the twenty-three people who had been drowned, would probably be scared sick of him and do whatever he would command them. Thanks to all the secret passages he had built with time, and that he had put in place when the Opera was slowly rebuilt, he could now hear or see pretty much everything that was going on in his theater.

"Well, now," said M. Firmin, "I'm proud to say that our new patroness, Céleste de Chagny, is now in business! A toast, perhaps?"

Céleste. That was her name, then. Well, slowly, his entire plan was becoming more and more concrete. All he had to do now was to find her weakness. He knew that with her, it wouldn't be easy, since she looked quite distant. But he would find it quite soon.

* * *

**Did you like it? Hated it? Let me know in a little review! Please? *Puppy eyes***


	5. Chapter 4

**Hey everybody! So here's another chapter!**

**And I got soooo many reviews! And I'm happy to see that you guys like my story. ;) **

**Answers to reviews: **

**Mystery-Magician: **Thanks! It's true the Céleste/Phantom moment is the moment I think EVERYONE is waiting for!

**Lydia the tygeropean: **Thank you! I'm glad to know my few mistakes here and there aren't too much of a problem. Let's just say I'm better English-speaking than writing, though I manage not too bad. But I think I'm better orally because of my very big mouth! XD

**BlueWolf29: **Thank you! Well, just to give you a little bit of a clue, I don't think Raoul and Erik will ever get over their dislike (not to say their hatred) for each other, but for the rest… Well, you'll see!

**Igenlode Wordsmith: **Yeah, that's a good reason for the Persian not being in the POTO musical… But I still love him. XD

So, I forgot that detail that Raoul was taking violin lessons. But considering the fact that Céleste has exceptional talent in music while Raoul… well, I don't see him as a musical genius. XD For the Erik/Céleste relation, well, you'll see!

For the scene where Céleste goes and confronts Christine, Philippe and Raoul are following her to make sure she will not say too much. Christine has been rescued by Raoul from the Phantom the night just before Céleste's arrival, so she's sort of still under the shock.

So, what I supposed, it's that at the moment where Raoul enters the living-room and sees Céleste who has just arrived from the convent and who is now with Philippe, he just left Christine so she can get ready. You see? And when Céleste goes to see Christine, she has just finished getting ready. But, maybe I'll edit the chapter if you still think that isn't very clear. ;)

And yes, since Mme de Chagny is dead, Céleste is THE lady of the house. Until Christine arrives and marries Raoul.

For the Prussian millionaire, he's an OC. ;) At the beginning, I thought of him just so someone would be there to help for the reconstruction of the Opera Populaire. My inspiration for him comes actually from a character in the Lucky Luke comics, by Goscinny and Morris. It's a French comic, what we call "bandes dessinées". This character from Lucky Luke was a stout German woman called Gertrud Can't-Remember-Her-Last-Name who was trying to photograph a ghost and who was simply hilarious. So, since Germany was still called Prussia in 1860-1870, and that industrialization was working very well in that country, I created a Prussian millionaire who is very attracted by anything supernatural (here, the Phantom of the Opera). You'll see him soon, don't worry! He'll be there for the comic-relief. ;)

I think you'll like Ines Parilla. After La Carlotta la diva, Christine Daaé the "precious little ingénue", here's Parilla la femme fatale! XD

I always saw Philippe as a nice guy with a bit of a big mouth who sometimes talks a bit too loud but you know, he's a good guy. I was pretty sure he was going to have a teasing big brother relationship with Christine.

For Raoul knowing that Céleste of him but not realizing that she is also jealous of Christine, that's because he isn't really aware of Céleste being a musical genius. It's been years since she hasn't played, so, it sort of got out of his mind. And what happened is that Christine and Raoul got to make a choice that Céleste would never get to do. And that makes her mad, especially that she thinks that Christine, since she has passed a bit too much time with the Phantom alone (considering the very prude Victorian manners), she thinks that she has no reputation anymore. "Why would she deserve what I never got to get myself?"

About Raoul's girly looks… Hey hey. ;) I am basing myself on the cast from the 2004 film. Only, the Phantom's deformity is the same as the one in the 25th anniversary edition (with Ramin Karimloo), because the deformity in the movie was a total joke.

And Erik's first sight of Céleste… I had so much fun writing that. XD "Woah, she would really look nicer if her hair wouldn't be all tied up… Uh, wait, what am I saying?"

For the relations between the Prussian guy and herself… Well, you'll see. ;)

* * *

**Chapter 4**

While MM. Firmin and André were leading her to the stage, Céleste could hear the Queen of the Night's aria in _The Enchanted Flute, _by Mozart, but sung quite mechanically. When finally, she had a glimpse of the scene, she could see la señorita Parilla in her Queen of the Night costume, a dark blue dress where little sequins were spread everywhere, in a not very realistic pose. It wasn't false to stay that she was there only for the looks. Every note she sang was perfectly in key, but she put no soul in it. The managers were probably hoping that her beauty would make the public forget her lack of expression. Well, that cheap little trick didn't work on Céleste.

The music stopped as MM. Firmin and André and Céleste entered on the stage. Immediately, la señorita Parilla turned towards them, a lovely but quite seductive smile on her face, and headed nonchalantly but sort of sensually to them. Just seeing her made Céleste quite uncomfortable and immediately, without needing any other reason, she hated her, especially when she saw the gazes the managers were giving to her. Well, they had found no better than a whore to replace Christine Daaé and La Carlotta. For a moment, she regretted her stupid impulse of becoming a patroness to the Opera Populaire. But she was pretty much past the point of no return, now.

"Señorita, may we present to you our new patroness, Céleste de Chagny."

"Ah, mademoiselle, it is a pleasure to meet you!"

She was rolling her "r" a bit too much to Céleste's taste. Spanish or not, she felt it was exaggerated. And the tongue she could see thanks to the hole between her two front teeth just appeared a bit too much. With a cold smile, she returned la señorita Parilla theatrical bow with a very small bow of her head.

"Our conductor, M. Reyer," continued M. André. "And here is the new tenor, Frederick Jansen." The two men, one in front of the stage and facing the orchestra, and the other coming from behind a curtain towards them, bowed towards Mlle de Chagny. This time, she smiled as her head bowed even lower than with la señorita Parilla. The prima donna, seeing that, let go a little gasp of shock and exasperation, even with the angry look that the managers gave her.

"Maybe you would like to have a glimpse of their talent, Mademoiselle?" asked M. Firmin.

"Of course," answered Céleste with a smile, though she thought at the same time she had heard quite enough of the prima donna. She was about to find her as annoying as La Carlotta.

"Monsieur Reyer, the duet in the final scene from _Aïda_," commanded M. André.

With a little bow for the managers, Reyer turned towards the orchestra and, soon, the music started, while la señorita Parilla and Frederick Jansen settled in their places.

Well, one thing was sure for Céleste, after the duet was over: Jansen looked like a charming young man, and he had a lot of talent, while Parilla was only there for the bodywork. She didn't look much like the Aïda she expected, a young Ethiopian princess condemned to die buried alive in a tomb with her lover. A music box, put at her place, would have done just as well. As the prima donna and the tenor bowed and got out of the stage, M. Firmin turned towards Mlle de Chagny.

"Well, mademoiselle? What do you think of our new stars?"

"You are lucky to have found someone as talented as Frederick Jansen, messieurs. But to be honest, I don't really see what talent la señorita Parilla has."

Firmin and André looked at each other, puzzled, while Céleste fought very hard not to show a very very VERY sarcastic grin. It looked like Parilla's beauty had completely bewitched them. Men would never change. It only took a pair of beautiful eyes, may they be light and ingénue, or tempting and sensual, to turn their little brain off.

* * *

He had to admit the Chagny girl was smart, way smarter than the two fools who were running his theater. At least SHE could see the real talent in people. Too bad she was on his black list.

From box 5, the Phantom had seen everything. He had followed the managers and Céleste since they had left the office, thanks to all the secret passages he had built during the Opera's restoration. The Parilla whore had been terrible, as usual. He couldn't stand it, seeing her at the place where Christine should have stood… Oh, Christine… He felt nothing but a mix of hatred and nostalgia towards her. Sometimes, he wanted to run to the Chagny's hotel and strangle her in her sleep, and then, five minutes after, he was imagining her standing by his side, a loving look on her face, but who was quite blurry since he had trouble getting the picture of it.

Everybody was gone, now. Erik had been too lost in his thoughts to even bother to follow them as he planned to. He was going to leave box 5 when suddenly, he heard the doors of the theater opening, than closing silently, but not silently enough so his well-developed ears couldn't hear.

As he looked, he saw that the Chagny girl was back, looking around her, as if she was afraid that someone would be there. _If only she knew who was actually looking at her. _But anyway, it seemed no one was there. Reassured, the young woman headed towards the orchestra pit and looked around her. All the musicians had left their instruments around. Seeing them, she smiled, and took gently a violin in her arms, placing it under her chin, and taking the bow with her right hand, she dared to play a few notes. Then, happy with the sound they make, she started playing a song she had always remembered since Gustave Daaé had taught her to play it.

Meanwhile, Erik was totally taken aback. He had never heard someone play the violin with such passion and such talent. Though the Chagny girl, a few minutes ago, looked so reserved and rigid, he had suddenly discovered a part of her that he would have never guessed. _The beauty underneath. _And he was also quite intrigued with the sudden sad and melancholic look she had on her face, when she put the violin back in his place. And even more when he heard her voice singing:

_"There was a time when men were kind,_

_And their voices were soft, _

_And the world inviting, _

_There was a time where love was blind, _

_And the world was a song,_

_And the song was exciting, _

_There was a time,_

_Then it all went wrong." _

Too many feelings were fighting against each other in Erik's mind. On one side, he had found her singing quite well. It was so different from _her_, vulnerable, but strong, and with a maturity _she _never had and which was truly lacking in her. On another side, he was jumping on conclusions, yes, but conclusions that were probably true. Now, he just had to find a way to trap her.

* * *

As she got out of the orchestra pit, Céleste gazed dreamily around her. She finally stared at the stage, and headed towards it. Looking up, she saw the scaffoldings where the stagehands usually worked, the very same place where Joseph Buquet had found death. But she didn't know that, of course.

She lifted up her skirts, showing her legs. It wasn't at all a lady-like way to do things. A real lady wouldn't even think of climbing up there. But who cared? _No one will see me, anyway. _So, pushing away all other principles, Céleste climbed up towards to the scaffoldings.

You needed to have a very good balance to stand on those, since they were only attached above them. But thankfully, there were banisters on each side, which Céleste held tightly, especially with the fact she was wearing high-heeled ankle boots. She gazed down, not afraid at all of the height where she was.

"You play and sing quite well."

Céleste gasped and turned towards the voice. Just a few meters from her, a man all dressed in black was also standing on the scaffoldings, looking the back of the theater, in a way she could only see one side of his face. Immediately, she blushed:

"Oh… I… I thought no one was there to hear or see me."

_I hope he didn't see me with my skirts all lifted up. Mother must be turning in her coffin right now just knowing I did that in front of an unknown man. _

"Well, I was," the man answered. "Isn't a beautiful view, here?"

"Yes, it is," Céleste said, gaining a bit of confidence back and already taking a calmer and more posed tone. "It must be a wonderful view for the stagehands who work here."

"Yes. They can see so many things from here, can't they?" The man's voice had suddenly become darker and a bit menacing. But Céleste was too lost in her own thoughts to even realize that.

Céleste and the man looked for a moment at the theater, when, finally, she broke the silence, feeling that all of this was sort of… awkward.

"So… Do you work here, monsieur?"

"Yes. I'm a music teacher." answered the man, still looking at the theater, the right side of his face always being the only thing Céleste could see of his figure.

"Oh. That's nice. What do you teach?"

"Any instrument you like, Madame."

"Mademoiselle, please. I'm not married yet. Mademoiselle de Chagny."

"Well, mademoiselle," said the man, still not facing her, "Would you like to be my first student?"

Céleste gasped. She wasn't awaiting this at all. Could it be… Could it be the chance she could finally develop a talent she was always forbidden to show? It seemed like this man was some angel who had fell from heaven to help her. _Great. Now I'm thinking nonsense like Christine. _

But she thought it was actually quite strange that the man had never faced her. Was he trying to hide her something? Like…

"Mademoiselle de Chagny?"

Céleste heard M. Firmin call her before she even came to think about anything else. Now, she had to think fast.

"Oh, I have to go. Tell me, when will be the first lesson?"

"Next Saturday, at three o'clock in the afternoon, if you wish. It will be the room just in front of the ballerinas' dormitory." said the man without any expression, still facing the theater.

"Thank you!" Céleste whispered, hurrying towards the ladder, and then, towards the door, quickly, and only thinking about her music lesson who was going to come quite soon. Céleste de Chagny, who was usually so rational and posed, had been so thrilled by the idea of reprising something she had buried with so much pain for so long, that she didn't even think of the awkwardness of the whole situation anymore. And of course, she didn't see the man slowly turning towards her, and watching her leave the theater. Because if she did, she would have saw that the face was bearing a white mask, and its lips were twisted into an evil smile.

* * *

**So here it is! And review? Please please please?**

**Edit on 27/1/14: I realized I totally forgot the disclaimer! I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to... :( **

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything coming from ALW's Phantom of the Opera. Anything coming from Leroux belongs to the public domain. The song Céleste is singing is a part of "I Dreamed a Dream" in the musical Les Misérables. And of course, I don't own that. **


	6. Chapter 5

**Hey everybody! I'm coming in with a new chapter!**

**Answers to reviews: **

**Blue Wolf29: **The action is starting! Thanks for liking, it's really appreciated ;)

**Lydia the tygeropean: **To me, it's a lot more logic that, since he has a very violent temper, Erik should be mad at Christine but at the same time, he misses her. I know exactly what you mean about Erik crying all the time, it does get boring... I hope my fanfic won't be boring though!

* * *

**Chapter 5**

"Where are you going?"

For a moment, Céleste thought her heart was stopping and that she was going to die right there. It was just so stupid. She was just about to start to fulfill one of her dearest dreams, and after taking all the precautions that where possible to get herself a violin without anyone noticing it, then, when Saturday afternoon finally arrived, to manage to sneak out of her room, clutching her instrument's case tightly and hiding it behind her large crinoline so no one would see it. And now, she turned towards the feminine and still childish voice that had called her, to see, at her great displeasure, Christine starring at her with an interrogative look in her eyes. All her girly manners were already getting on Céleste's nerves, but now, she really felt like strangling her. To now, she had always been quite polite though cold with Christine, but today, with all the pressure that was on her, she just had to get a little bit mad at her. She just hoped she wouldn't go crying to Raoul. Well, if her little brother, when she came back, decided to confront her about her hurting his poor little Christine's feelings, well, she was telling him she was going to find a house of her own. And anyway, she was going to do that very soon.

"Is that of your business? Or am I now a prisoner in MY own house? Oh, don't look at me like that, Christine, and don't go crying to Raoul, either."

Without further ado, Céleste opened the door and slammed it. Yes, she was conscious that she had been quite mean to Christine. But, at the same time, she couldn't help feeling so much better. And, as she jumped into her carriage, she opened the case and, a febrile manner, she caressed the strings, plucking them, sometimes, and listening to the little sound they made.

Soon, the carriage stopped in front of the Opera Populaire. Céleste almost skipped out of the carriage, forgetting her normal demeanor of getting out of it gracefully and carefully. She walked quickly towards the entrance, and, once inside, asked for directions towards the ballerinas' dormitory.

_So, it's the door just in front of the dormitory. _The door of the ballerinas' quarters was opened, and Céleste could see all the beds, with a few ballerinas chatting here and there. She even recognized Meg Giry, the young girl she had met just before she decided to sponsor the Opera. She knew she wasn't mistaking, but how come the door just in front of the dormitory had "Chapel" written on it? Her music lesson couldn't be in a chapel. As she looked at the hour on a clock that was in the hallway, she saw it was three o'clock. So, without further ado, she entered the room where she was said to go, to see that it was indeed a chapel. Only the candles were producing a light, but a light so dim the whole room, with its walls of stone, was so gloomy that Céleste couldn't help shivering.

_What on Earth am I doing here? There's probably some mistake. _

"Oh, but there is no mistake at all, Mademoiselle."

Céleste shrieked of surprise. Did… did someone just read in her mind. She looked around her, and finally, she saw _him_. Yes, it was indeed the man she had talked to a week ago. She remembered how she wondered why he never looked at her, only showing half of his face. Now, she knew why. _Because of the mask._ And immediately, she knew in front of who she was standing.

_He's here, the Phantom of the Opera. _

So he wasn't dead, nor did he run away, even if everyone thought so. How could she have been so stupid? Well, that would teach her to believe a bit too much in her dreams. She had been as foolish as Christine. Now, who knew what this madman could do to her? Especially that she had even told him her name, and thanks to that, he probably knew she was the sister of his worst enemy. Great. Just great. She felt like banging her head on the wall because of her stupidity.

Céleste didn't dare to move. She was afraid that if she tried, the Phantom would do something bad to her, something she didn't even dare to imagine. Already, just looking into his eyes, she could read all the hatred of the world.

She heard something coming from the door. Without any explanation, she knew the door had been locked, though she didn't understand how it was possible.

But, quickly, Céleste regained her senses, and stood up straight, holding the Phantom's evil glare. With a clear voice, she asked:

"What do you want from me, monsieur? I think you know who I am, anyway."

The Phantom approached slowly. His hand came close to Céleste's face, while she was trembling, almost preparing herself to resist getting strangled by taking deep breaths. But instead, he started caressing gently Céleste's cheek. Her face became quite pale, and, with real anger, she slapped the Phantom's hand, holding herself from slapping his face and, by the same occasion, making his mask fall. No, she didn't want that to happen, so he could go totally mad.

The Phantom's smile widened as he grasped Céleste's fists. She wanted to shout, but quickly, he grabbed her and brought her against him, closing her mouth with his gloved hand. The smell of leather and of a quality eau de Cologne tickled Céleste's nose. _That perfume sure smells good… Wait a minute. What am I saying? Am I… _Mlle de Chagny did feel a little bit less tensed as she smelled the eau de Cologne. Probably the Phantom was only waiting for that, because he let her go and turned her so she could face him.

"Such a wild thing, hey? You do your best to look like a lady, but the beast is still roaring under that too thin of a cover." The Phantom's voice was only but a whisper. And slowly, Céleste was starting to realize why Christine had been so fascinated by her so-said Angel of Music. He did have a bewitching voice.

"I think I'll be asking the questions, mademoiselle," the Phantom snapped. "First of all, how did you learn to play music and sing so well?"

"Why do you want to know that?" Céleste asked, lifting her chin proudly. But soon, the Phantom took her face quite roughly and pulled it back, trying to get Céleste to look lower than his face, and to put her in a more humble position. But something in the Chagny girl's eyes somehow forbid him from doing that, and he could only but force her to look at him in the eyes. _Like if she was his equal. _

"Just answer the question." The Phantom said, darkly.

Céleste sighed, and resigned to his request. Well, it wasn't by opposing him constantly that she was going to get out of this place.

"I started learning long ago from a violinist who I was acquainted with. He told me I had talent. Perhaps a bit too much talent for my parents' taste. They forced me to stop, much to my dismay. Anything else?"

"No. Why have you decided to come to my Opera house?" The Phantom emphasized on the "my".

"It's not your Opera house," Céleste muttered.

"Oh, yes, it is. The managers may not know it yet, but I haven't disappeared. And now that they know what I can do, will they dare to stop me? No. The Opera has burned once, and thanks to God, it was only part of it. But there is worse than a partly burned Opera house, hey?" The Phantom's voice had become more and more menacing, almost as deep as the thunder on a hot summer night, vibrating on the stone walls of the chapel, giving a sort of supernatural sound to it. Céleste couldn't help trembling a bit.

"Well," Céleste finally answered, "My brothers aren't aware of this, of course. I always dreamt of sponsoring the Opera Populaire, for I have always loved the arts, despite the fact that I never got to develop my own musical talents." Mlle de Chagny's voice had become full of bitterness. "Everyone told me you were gone, so I thought it was safe. But it appears it isn't."

While she was talking, the Phantom turned away. The only thing Céleste could see now in the dark was his mask, almost glowing in a ghostly way. Finally, she heard him sneer.

"That's ridiculous. You have everything. Don't tell me you never got to…"

"Oh." Céleste interrupted him. "So you think that money and… and beauty will buy you happiness and arrange everything so you can do whatever you want?" She was only going to say "money". But "beauty" had really slipped from her lips, as she remembered, at the same time, what Raoul had told her about the Phantom's face. But, ignoring his reaction, she continued.

"Being beautiful and rich means being locked up in a golden cage, especially when you are born as a woman. The only thing you can expect from life is to be all dolled up to catch the eye of some rich man, to get married so he can show you like some trophy in balls and other events. That's what is awaiting me. And I don't want that life. If I fear one thing besides God's divine judgment on the day of my death, it's being locked up in a cage, until old age brings me to the point where I just have to accept it."

Never Céleste, even in confession, had dared to talk in such a personal way. And the worst of it was that she had told that in front of her family's most deadly enemy. But somehow, the Phantom didn't frighten her at all. She couldn't exactly explain why. He was just a man, after all, not some ghost.

The Phantom, during her whole speech, didn't move at all. But now, as she had stopped talking, he turned slowly towards her. All hatred she could see before was gone, but his face was unreadable.

"So may I ask my own questions now, sir?" Céleste finally said. "What do you want from me?"

As he heard Céleste talking, the Phantom seemed to regain his senses and a bit more assurance.

"It's simple, mademoiselle. From now on, you will do whatever I say."

"And that is?"

"You'll see. I'll let you go now. Come back Monday, in the chapel, again, at the same hour. And if you don't… I swear I'll come and I'll get you myself."

Without saying anything else, the Phantom turned towards the wall and suddenly, it seemed like he had disappeared by simply going through the solid stone, like a real ghost would have done. Céleste, left alone, got out of the chapel. And it was only then that she realized that the door, which had been somehow locked before without any explanation, had mysteriously been… well, unlocked.

Of course she was going back next Monday. She didn't want the Phantom to come at the hotel. Anyway, he didn't frighten her, and if he wanted to do her harm, he would have done it long ago. Her curiosity was sharpened. What did the Phantom want from her? She knew his intentions were to no good. And she wanted to know what it was going to be all about, so she could protect her brothers from him.

She headed quickly towards the entrance of the Opera, and got into a carriage. It was only then that she realized she had forgotten her violin in the chapel, but she was too numb to go back and get it back. _The Phantom will take care of it. _The thought of it almost made her giggle, though the situation wasn't laughable at all.

* * *

"I knew I would find you here someday."

Erik gasped as he turned around, to see, relieved, Antoinette Giry. The ballerina mistress was the only person who could come to him without being heard. Her excellence in ballet had trained her quite well in moving without making a single sound.

If Erik had avoided Antoinette in the last few months, it was to make sure everybody thought he was gone or dead, even his only help in the Opera Populaire. Now, it didn't really matter, since the managers were going to know very soon that he was back. Actually, though he would never say it out loud, he was quite happy to see Antoinette again.

"I came in every day here in Box 5 hoping you would be there," started Madame Giry. "Something in me was whispering you wouldn't have just run off like that. I can see now that I was right."

Erik didn't say a word. Antoinette was used to the fact he wasn't very talkative, but today, she knew that silence meant no good. With Céleste de Chagny, Raoul's sister who had become a patroness to the Opera Populaire, it was evident that Erik knew about it and that he wasn't taking it very well. He had all the reasons in the world to get his revenge on Raoul by using his sister. She had met Céleste a few minutes earlier, and she knew something was wrong, as she looked at a shocked Mlle de Chagny almost running to the Opera's entrance. Of course Erik had something to do with that.

"You know there's a new patron to the Opera Populaire? Or a patroness, I must say." risked Antoinette, hesitation in her voice.

Erik shrugged. But Mme Giry saw the shadow of a smile on his face. _Oh no. This is bad. Very bad. _

"Erik… please… Tell me you know what you are doing. Don't let another tragedy strike this Opera house, for the love of God!"

Why she was even begging him? It was hopeless, anyway. Erik never had a moral compass to tell him what was right and what was wrong. The only figure closest to a mother that he ever had in his life was Antoinette Giry. And even she couldn't control him. And Erik's answer only persuaded her that she was right.

"So what? The managers won't be taking any chances again, Antoinette. They know of what I'm capable of, now. The Opera house is mine. More than ever. And anyway, why would I need God's love? I never had it, anyway, since the day of my birth."

Mme Giry closed her eyes, holding her tears and murmuring in her heart a silent prayer. Many times, she wished she would have showed Erik how to pray. It could be so comforting sometimes, and God was probably the only person in the world who could really care about that poor man. If only Erik could turn to Him more often… But how could she talk of God to a man who seemed to be damned to Hell even on Earth?

She turned slowly to Box 5's door, when she saw a familiar face, one that she didn't see for years. Quickly, she got out of the box to go to him.

"Daroga. It's been so long. I…. I suppose you want to speak to _him_."

The Persian nodded his head, silently. Like Erik, he was a man who didn't say much. But when he talked, it wasn't useless at all. He was going to enter Box 5 when suddenly, he felt Mme Giry's hand on his shoulder.

"Please. Don't let him do something so terrible I don't even dare imagining it."

The Persian bowed slightly.

"I'll do my best, Madame. But I can't guarantee anything. Anyway, who can truly control the Phantom of the Opera?"

* * *

As Céleste entered the hotel, she felt like she was already breathing more easily. But, as she remembered the Phantom's threat of getting her if she didn't go the Opera Populaire next Monday, she shivered again.

"Ah, Céleste, where have you been?" Raoul ran to Céleste with a wide smile, showing her Christine had said nothing about their little quarrel just before she left. Well, it looked like she was less of a crybaby then Céleste thought.

"Oh, I just went to the Champs-Élysées," Céleste lied. "It such a beautiful autumn day, don't you think?"

"Oh yes, and it's even more beautiful with the news you are going to know very soon!"

"Really? What is it?"

"Christine… we're going to have a baby."

Céleste felt like the sky had fallen on her head. A… a baby?

She shook her head and shrugged mentally at her own stupidity. Of course Raoul and Christine were going to have a baby, eventually. Only, she wasn't expecting that to arrive so soon…

Another reason for her to find herself a house where she could live alone. But she didn't say that right away. With a little smile, she answered to Raoul:

"That's wonderful. Have you thought of any names?"

* * *

**So here it is! And review? PLEASE?**


	7. Chapter 6

**Hey guys! So here's a new chapter!**

**Answers to reviews: **

**Lydia the tygeropean: **Oh, thank you so much, it's so so SO nice of you and when I read that, it really made my day! I hope I will not disappoint you!

**Blue Wolf29: **Well, she doesn't have much of a choice. She doesn't want the Phantom to hurt her or hurt Raoul (and even hurt Christine, though she hates her). If she executes his commands, she knows (well, sort of) what he's up to and can have a certain control on the situation. Céleste is smart and resourceful, so she knows she has chances to prevent or at least reduce the Phantom's revenge by knowing what he's up to by using her. You see what I mean? ;) Especially with the baby who is coming, she has to stay on the look-out… but she's really doing that for her family, not Christine.

**On my Word document, I arrived on 40 pages for Let It Go! I'm so proud of myself! And it's far away from being done! XD**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

"Are you… sure of this, Céleste?"

Monday morning was as sunny as Saturday had been. And Céleste had taken advantage of the joy which was reigning in the house to tell Philippe her decision of finding a house of her own, in Paris.

"Philippe, I have been thinking of this since last spring. And with Raoul and Christine starting a family, I think it would be better if I just leave. Annette will be coming with me to be my maid, but I will need a cook, a valet and a coachman."

"Well, you can take Élisa, Jérôme and Baptiste with you. I think we will do fine without them, and you know them since you're a child. At least you will not have to hire people you hardly know."

"Oh, Philippe, that is so kind of you. Are you sure you will be fine with them with me? I mean… they've been here for so long and…"

"And I'm sure you'll be a good mistress for them."

Céleste felt tears in her eyes. Not only because of Philippe's generosity, but also, because now, she knew that by taking distance from her family, they wouldn't be aware of her business with the Opera Populaire and especially, with the Phantom of the Opera. They would be safe… Well, she hoped so. And she wouldn't have to bare Christine's presence every day.

Since Saturday, the two girls hadn't said a word to each other. It seemed like Christine had finally understood that Céleste would never accept to be a friend. She would only be what she couldn't prevent: a sister-in-law. And though Mlle de Chagny was quite satisfied with it, she knew that this heavy atmosphere wouldn't last for long without making anything explode. So, it was better if she just left.

"Anyway," said Philippe with a teasing grin, "it won't last for long. You will have to get settled quite soon, young lady."

Her marriage. She completely forgot that. Great. Though she knew perfectly well that Philippe would find a good suitor for her, she didn't want her freedom to be interrupted so quickly. It was a foolish feeling. That was her destiny, anyway, since the very day she was born.

The morning passed quite quickly, and in the beginning of the afternoon, Céleste got out of the hotel and headed towards the Opera Populaire, desperately trying to forget the "threat" Philippe had reminded her. She had something else to worry about, which was actually quite serious compared to her soon-to-come wedding: her meeting with the Phantom of the Opera.

From Saturday evening to now, she had been tortured by the Phantom's sentence: "From now on, you will do whatever I say." What was he going to ask from her?

Slowly, evidence came to her, before her eyes. If she married, probably she wouldn't be able to have any link with the Opera Populaire anymore, nor the Phantom. If she remained an old maiden, probably the madman wouldn't let her go until his death. _His death… Who would notice? _Céleste never wondered, like most well-behaved ladies, if she would be able to kill someone. It would be so easy, to kill the Phantom. Who would notice? Who cared for him? No one. No one to love him… Just thinking of that made Céleste's heart inexplicably tightened, and she just couldn't explain why. Could so miserable of a creature deserve so miserable of a death? Well… no.

Whatever she would choose, she would never be free. It was probably better to do what her family had always asked of her instead of obeying to every whim coming from that madman. She was a caged bird, in a golden prison, and nothing else. She remembered what the Phantom had told of her: she was a wild thing. Yes, she was a wild bird, just wanting to be free, but knowing that would never be possible. Getting out of the cage, without anything for her survival, would mean death.

Talk about a choice. Being the slave of a madman, in order to know certain of his intentions towards her family in order to protect Philippe and especially Raoul. Or being the wife of some man, condemned to be pretty in parties and to bare children, just smiling and just saying "Yes" and "No" like if she had no brains. But getting married and leaving the Opera Populaire for good would mean the Phantom would attack her family directly. And she didn't want that.

Lost in her thoughts, she hadn't notice that she had arrived. The coachman had opened the door and was looking at her, a bit embarrassed. With a bit too wide smile, Céleste got out of the carriage and, trembling, she headed towards the Opera Populaire, without looking around her. She collided with someone, who grumbled something she didn't understand, and continued without even apologizing. It was almost in a sleepwalking manner that she headed towards the chapel, and entered it.

Even if she looked very attentively, she couldn't see the Phantom anywhere. Good. He wasn't there yet. Remembering where she was, she turned towards the altar, signed herself and genuflected, mumbling a silent prayer. Only God, the Virgin Mary and all the Saints in heaven could help her now. Suddenly, a hand touched a shoulder. Strangely, Céleste was so relaxed that she didn't gasp of surprise. It was actually quite easy to guess who was there.

"It's useless to say the prayers of the dying," said the Phantom sarcastically. "I'm not going to kill you."

"I wasn't praying for that," Céleste said grimly. "Praying God in difficult times can be conforting."

The Phantom's sarcastic grin widened. "Well, just seeing the way you dress, it's easy to say you think yourself as a nun."

Céleste looked at the brown dress she was wearing. Yes, she hated that dress, and it did make her look like a nun. But what was the Phantom expecting? That she would just come wearing a red velvet dress, so low-cut it was scandalous? No way. She came that afternoon looking as decent as possible, though she was really tired of wearing those plain dresses after a year in a convent. She lifted up her eyes, in an exasperated manner.

"What do you know about God and religion, anyway? Now, stop the chit-chat and just tell me what you want."

"You're really nothing but a spoiled child, hey?" the Phantom said, his voice full of disgust. "Well, first of all, you forgot your violin, last Saturday. Good thing I was there to keep it for you."

He handed Céleste her violin case, which she took immediately. Hearing the Chagny girl muttering "Thank you" a bit grumpily but somehow sincerely, he felt troubled. No one had ever said "thank you" to him. Not even… _her_.

Meanwhile, Céleste put the case on a chair and opened it. But, when she took her violin out, she realized that it wasn't hers… She was sure of it. The varnish, for a start, was different. She peeked into the instrument, where the violin maker's label was usually placed. Her violin was made by Robillard, one of the finest violin makers in Paris. And her surprise was quite big when she saw the name of the label: Stradivarius.

These violins were worth a fortune for their amazing sound, and even Céleste wouldn't dare spend money for such a thing, though having a Stradivarius violin would be wonderful. But… But this made no sense? Why did the Phantom want her to have so expensive of a violin?

"I… I don't understand. I cannot accept this, monsieur. What is this little game? What do you want?"

"I was expecting a little more gratitude," muttered the Phantom.

"Oh, it's not that I'm not happy with this, it's just… It's not very proper for a lady to accept such a gift of a man who is not her husband."

"Oh, please, don't come and repeat to me that little lesson that your mother told you." The Phantom started having the most insupportable mocking smile, which made Céleste want to hide six feet underground. "Accept only sweets and flowers from men, darling," he continued, imitating a woman's voice.

Céleste couldn't help giggling, but stopped immediately, remembering those things weren't to be laughed at and that she wasn't at all with a friend. She was with a man, in the most improper ways, without a chaperon, and longer than she was supposed to. Regaining her senses, she said in a cold voice:

"Well, monsieur, I think you still owe me an explanation."

"Of course. But you must promise me that for now on, you will not ask me any more questions."

Céleste sighed. Did he think she was nothing more than a puppet? Well, by not promising, she wouldn't make much progress in her situation. With a grumpy look on her face, she finally answered: "I promise."

The Phantom smiled, and lifting his cloak lightly, he handed a few music scores to Céleste, who was now quite puzzled. "Do you think you can play these?" he finally asked.

Céleste looked at the Phantom in an awkward and interrogative look, but, at the moment she was going to open her mouth, he placed softly a leather finger on her lips. "You promised. No questions. And feel lucky I'm in a good temper today." She freed herself quite quickly. It wasn't that she didn't like it when the Phantom touched her. Well, that was the problem. She felt no disgust, nor repulsion, nor even the modesty she should normally have.

With an exasperated look, she settled herself, putting the violin under her chin, the bow in her right hand, and forbid herself from asking the Phantom if she could at least practice. She looked at the score he had given her. Concerto for violin, by Johannes Brahms, first movement. Just looking at all the notes that were almost fighting for a place on the paper made her dizzy. Was he just expecting her to play it perfectly, right now? That was impossible? Was that his revenge? Playing so badly so he could laugh at her face? What a pathetic revenge. It couldn't be that, and Céleste felt foolish of even suspecting that. Without further ado, she attacked the first notes on the score.

Strangely, the concerto wasn't too hard to play. The Stradivarius violin produced such a beautiful sound, and soon, she relaxed, and let all her passion appear on the notes she produced. When finally, she played the last note, in a vibrato which gazed in the air and slowly faded away, she opened her eyes, and held herself from smiling when she saw the Phantom's almost amazed look. Well, it seemed like she just won a little victory.

"That was… very good," he finally said. "And… you said you just started to learn when you were a child… and you never continued after?"

"No," answered simply Céleste.

Erik lowered his head, thinking intensely. Everything was just so perfect. His plan could go on. It would be all so easy… But then, for the first time perhaps in his entire life, he felt a little hint of guilt. Céleste de Chagny was, after all, nothing else than the fop's sister, she was arrogant, cold, but she had a strength in her that _she _never had, and she had such talent. And presenting her talents to the world for that purpose… It seemed almost like a sacrilege to him.

Then the reality slapped in straight in the face… He just compared her to Christine. How did he dare to do such a thing? That was enough. It was time for him to dismiss her until next time. Something in him wasn't right. And he felt anger growing stronger and stronger in him. Not only for Céleste, who inexplicably reminded him of Christine, though she was her complete opposite, but also, for Christine herself.

To conclude everything, he handed other music scores to Céleste.

"Study these for next time, next Wednesday." he said coldly. "I don't think you'll have much of a problem with these, after what you just did. That will be all."

And before Céleste could even say a word, the Phantom disappeared like he did the first time she met him in the chapel: by seemingly going through the stone wall.

She was relieved that the Phantom was gone, but at the same time, she was disappointed that it was already over. The mystery was becoming thicker by the minute. It was evident that he was going to tutor her in violin, but why? How was that going to hurt Raoul or Christine? Well, there was pretty much only one solution to solve this: come back Wednesday.

Almost hesitatingly, she put the Stradivarius violin back into its case. For a long minute, she gazed at the case which stayed on the chair, almost wondering if she should take it or not. Then, finally making up her mind, she seized it firmly and headed, proud, towards the chapel's door.

As she got out, she headed towards the exit, but was soon stopped by M. Firmin, who immediately ran to her.

"Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle, please!"

Céleste wasn't really in a mood to talk to anyone. All she wanted was simply to crush on her bed, trying to forget about all her problems. And now, she was pretty sure Firmin was stopping her to talk about money, and discussing about something that would probably just give her a headache because of all the numbers he would talk about. It took her supreme courage to turn towards M. Firmin with a smile.

"Monsieur? What can I do for you?"

"Mademoiselle! I've just realized you haven't been presented to the other patron of our Opera, Herr Schimdt! He's here, just at this moment! Would you mind if we presented him to you?"

"No, not at all," answered Céleste, though she really felt like saying "Yes, I do mind, and just leave me alone."

While they were heading to the managers' office and Firmin was blabbering about the other patron, the Prussian millionaire who, recently, had helped financially for the Opera Populaire's restoration, Céleste was only half listening, while the other half of her was moaning on her bad luck. This was just not her day. Not at all. And really, it just couldn't get worse.

When they finally arrived, Céleste could see M. André speaking with a fat little man, his face as red as his hair (and there wasn't much of it), dressed in the typical new rich style (which meant expensive clothes, but very little taste), and just looking at his physics, he was just the perfect stereotype of Germans: little, fat, red skin and red hair, and Céleste wouldn't have been very surprised to see him with a pint of beer one day. He was probably one those men who had gained money and power by starting their own factories and being cunning in business.

"Ah! So I finally get to meet Fraulein de Chagny!" said Herr Schmidt with a thick German accent, a wide smile and presenting his hand. Céleste shook it, but regretted to have done that very soon: for a moment, she thought her hand was going to come off because of the patron squeezing it so hard while he was shaking.

Suddenly, the door opened, and la señorita Parilla made quite a spectacular entrance. After the German stereotype, there was the femme fatale stereotype. She was wearing a red velvet dress, and all the scandal that came with it. And Céleste thought she was going to faint when she saw La Parilla almost hanging on Schmist's neck. Well, that was the most ridiculous couple she had ever seen. Ines Parilla was a head taller than her new lover, and was as thin as he was fat, with a complexion as olive as his was red, and as sensual as he was simply grotesque. They would be all the rage in some comedy, for sure.

But Céleste showed nothing of her mockery, and stayed cold, while Firmin and André looked slightly embarrassed of La Parilla simpering nonsense while Herr Schmidt was smiling dumbly. The poor managers could feel that Céleste didn't feel too pleased about such an inappropriate demonstration, but didn't dare to say a word, afraid of annoying La Parilla and above all, Schmidt.

But thanks to God, a knocking on the door interrupted all this.

"Yes, come in!" shouted Firmin.

"Messieurs?" said Mme Giry, entering in the office. "A letter has arrived for you."

She handed them a white envelope, which André took with eagerness. But soon, the faces of the managers grew pale when they saw the back of it. The letter was sealed with a red skull they knew a bit too well.

"What?" gasped André. "This can't be. This is nothing more than a bad practical joke!"

"Just throw it in the fire and we'll be done with it!" said Firmin, impatiently. But the word "fire" made the managers slowly looked at each other and, without further ado, they opened the letter, under the intent look of Céleste and Mme Giry, who both knew very well that it was no joke, the annoyed look of La Parilla, furious the attention wasn't all towards her anymore, and the intrigued look of Herr Schmidt.

"Could this be the Opera Ghost I've always dreamed of meeting? Oh, my chance of taking a picture of a ghost!" said the patron eagerly.

"I would be careful with that if were you, monsieur," said Mme Giry sullenly.

The spidery writing allowed no mistake, nor did the letter's style. It was the Opera Ghost. And he was back.

_Have you missed me, good messieurs? I think that for now on, you will have no objection to let me manage the arts in this Opera house, since you have both proved many times that you have no competency in those matters. For a start, I still ask for my monthly salary of 20 000 francs for my services, and Madame Giry will act, as before, as your intermediary. For the official reopening of the Opera, it will be a ballet. No opera this time, though I will accept to have La Parilla sing a solo if you wish, for she seems to be more there for the bodywork rather than for her talents, and I wouldn't stand seeing her for a whole show. I've seen the ballet dancers have practiced _Swan Lake_, recently? This is perfect for me. Though the prima ballerina usually dances both the roles of Odette and Odile, La Sorelli, your prima ballerina, will only play Odile. This role requires sensuality, a thing I believe she learned quite well by her little meetings with Monsieur le Comte Philippe de Chagny. The role of Odette requires innocence and grace, and I'm sure Little Giry will fulfill this part very well. And finally, for the violin solo, you will ask Mademoiselle de Chagny to do it. She has been taught well, and has more than natural talent. _

_I do expect my commands to be executed, since you both know what disasters can occur. You are certainly conscious, messieurs, that there is worse than a partly burned Opera house?_

_Your most humble servant, _

_O.G. _

First of all, Céleste was going to ask a few questions to Philippe concerning his relations with La Sorelli.

Second of all, how would a lady of her rank humble herself to be just an artist, a violinist playing in solo?

Memories of her childhood came back to her. That was what she wanted since she was a child, though she had always fought it. And now, that opportunity was given to her. She had to take it while she had the chance. And anyway, her brothers having no relations with the Opera Populaire, they would probably never know. But… why was the Phantom helping her to accomplish her dreams? That was something she didn't understand at all.

"THIS IS AN INSULT!"

"Now, mein Liebling…"

"IT'S AN INSULT, I SAY, AN INSULT!" shrieked La Parilla, while Schmidt was desperately trying to calm her down.

"We are both sorry for this offense, señorita, but with the Opera Ghost, we cannot take any chances."

La Parilla got out of the office crying loudly, followed by Herr Schmidt running as fast as his fat body could carry him. Firmin and André turned towards Céleste and Mme Giry, and it was only then that they seemed to realize that Mlle de Chagny was carrying a violin. Well, one quality they obviously didn't have was observation.

"Oh… so you do play the violin?" said Firmin, with a suspicious glare.

Céleste hesitated before answering. For a moment, she thought of telling the managers everything, so they would maybe take measures to stop all of this. But then, she thought of the impossibility of all this. The Phantom really did control the Opera Populaire. And the warning glares coming from Mme Giry convinced her that making up a plausible excuse was the best solution.

"Yes, I must say playing the violin is one of my passions," said Céleste calmly. "I was taught by Gustave Daaé himself. I came here to practice in a vacant room to be in peace, but probably this Opera Ghost heard me and thought well of my little talent."

"Well, before going to a total catastrophe, could we hear a bit of what you can do, mademoiselle, if you don't mind?"

"Of course," answered Céleste.

Quickly, she took out the violin and the bow out of their case and, without further ado, started playing.

* * *

**So here you are! Are you also confused by the Phantom's commands? If you are, that's exactly what I wanted! XD Let me know about your impressions in a little review! **

**I strongly recommend you guys should listen to the Concerto for violin by Brahms. Really, you'll see why Erik was so impressed! **


	8. Chapter 7

**And another chapter is in the can! Enjoy! This will not have much action in it compared to the others but it will come very soon, don't worry!**

**Answers to reviews:**

**PhantomLilac:** Well, yes, I used a translator. (WHAT'S THE USE OF TRANSLATORS IF THEY CAN'T EVEN TRANSLATE PROPERLY?) I searched for the word "darling" and found "Liebling". I remembered hearing that in the Young Victoria movie (with Emily Blunt, awesome movie by the way, one of my favs). Baroness Lehzen (Victoria's governess) called Victoria "Mein Liebling" so I thought it meant "my darling". So here you go. Would you mind telling me what "darling" is in German, please? It would be really appreciated. ;)

**Lydia the tygeropean:** Thanks! :D

**Igenlode Wordsmith:** Boy do I love your reviews. XD

I must say I was pretty much in inspiration then, so yes, I do update pretty fast. XD But now, let's just say I have a little less time now for writing, so you'll relax more, I think. ;)

La Carlotta does shriek a little bit, but it's in the higher notes, since her voice, with time, has become worn-out. And I think La Parilla is at the point where she is because of her looks and financial resources more than her true talent. A bit like a nineteenth-century Britney Spears, and once old age will come in and take all of her beauty, well, no one will care about her anymore. But anyway, I know how to enjoy opera. ;)

To tell you one thing, it's Emmy Rossum who made me not like Christine (without hating her). I don't know, she was so ingénue and sometimes foolish and it was really getting on my nerves, and the ambiguity in the movie (about her loving Raoul or the Phantom) was inappropriate to me. But for me, she was closer to the Christine from the book than Sierra Boggess or Sarah Brightman.

Yeah, the beauty underneath. XD It just slipped so well in there that I had to put it there. To be honest, I don't like LND, because of course, for me, Christine is in love with Raoul and not Erik, and in this sequel, she has acted in a terrible way towards Raoul. But ok, I'll stop talking about LND because I could go on for hours. I hate the story, but I'll admit the soundtrack was beautiful.

Although, I have a bit of trouble understanding your point about the little glimpse of "I Dreamed a Dream". Ok, it is a song from the twentieth century, but I thought it fitted in well. Because, besides opera, I don't really know much songs from that time and which would reflect well Céleste's "distress". I know, it was a cheap and easy shot, but anyway. (So for the next sentence, I'm going to be very VERY honest, if the author of this fanfic ever comes here, sees this and feels insulted, I'm sorry. But as I said, I'm being very honest.) Let's just say I'm prepared for everything since I read a phanfic happening in 1870 where one of the songs which were put in was E.T. by Katy Perry. I thought I was going to have a heart attack.

I totally forgot about the crinoline and how tough it would have been if she wore that while climbing the ladder. And I don't think Céleste would have stayed in petticoats. XD Boy, how did women back then sit with those crinolines on? Well, now that I think about it, the fashion in 1870 was then for what we call in French "poufs" or "faux-culs". A dress with a skirt flat on the front but "bumpy" on the back. I know I talk about crinolines, but I'll go edit that.

It is more logical to me that Erik, with his hot temper, would be mad at Christine instead of crying after her. Fanfics where that happens get boring with time.

To me, it was pretty obvious that there was going to be a bit of religion in the story. Catholicism was still important back then. There were a lot of atheists, though not as much as today. And since I'm a faithful Catholic myself, I won't make too much mistakes at that level. XD It goes well with the era, and it doesn't give too much of an anachronistic atmosphere. Just for example, making Céleste too progressive and feminist would be anachronistic. Yes, she is sort of a feminist, but for her time. Not like George Sand (aka Aurore Dupin) who was dressing up like a man, or like the suffragettes, or other feminists in that type. No, Céleste is a feminist in the sense she knows a woman can take care of herself on her own without a man to always help her. Unlike Christine. ;)

I'll change the valet guy. XD And I knew it, I knew I was going to have trouble with Schmidt's name. XD

Christine is doing well with Philippe and Raoul, but since she was this kind nature, well, she wants everybody to be happy around her (it can seem weird that I say that, after what happened with the Phantom, but she didn't have much of a choice anyway). So it's logical that she is going to try to sympathize with Céleste. But it's true Christine doesn't understand yet why she hates her. ;)

I liked my idea of the "wedding salvation". It changes so much from the stereotype of the arranged marriage with some guy twice as old as you are and then there's your prince charming that comes and saves you. And Philippe's relations with Sorelli will be quite useful later (you'll see! I already said too much!)

Reading music scores can be easy. I'm a violinist myself and I have usually no problem with that, but executing it is another thing, I'll admit it. XD But I'm basing myself on the fact that I know a guy who had never played the clarinet before and one day, when he borrowed one from a friend and that he played it for the very first time, he did it like if he had already played before. So, basing myself on the fact that Céleste is a musical genius, well, I made her play a bit of Brahms fluently. Maybe it wasn't top perfect (like Itzahk Perlman's performance of it, for instance), but very good for someone who had never played it before.

I must say that to describe La Parilla at the beginning, I used the term "bodywork" which was as you said coming from the book. But then, for the ballet, I just had to put Sorelli in. Imagination can sometimes be your master. XD

And remember the Phantom, well, he is a bit mad. Just for example, he could have kidnapped Christine anytime; he didn't have to do it in front of everyone in Dom Juan Triumphant. But he's an artist. Keep that in mind when his plans for Céleste will be slowly revealed. And sometimes, I think he isn't conscious of the consequences of his acts (like a child, actually. Erik can have a very childish behavior sometimes, may it be in the book, musical or movie). So on a moment of anger, he could burn the whole Opera, and then just say "Oh, what did I do?" just after it's done.

**Blue Wolf29:** Thanks! :D And about Céleste resolution, you understood everything. ;)

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything coming from ALW's Phantom of the Opera nor Susan Kay's Phantom. Anything coming from Leroux's novel belongs to the public domain.**

* * *

**Chapter 7**

Everything was settled. Firmin and André were more than reassured by Céleste's talents in violin, and she guaranteed them she would practice the solo she had to play. Coincidence (or not), the scores the Phantom had given her were precisely the ones she would need for Swan Lake. And, as Céleste was heading back home, she tried to concentrate on looking as cheerful as possible, so her brothers wouldn't ask too much questions.

It was false to think that the Chagny family was divided. Since their parents' death, Philippe knew that for now on, he had to be the father and the eldest brother all at the same time. But thankfully, Céleste and Raoul weren't of course what we would call problems. But still, you had to know them well to gain their confidence. While the sister was conscious of her rank, obeying perfectly well to every strict demand of the Victorian and puritanical society, but remained distant, his little brother was nothing more than a child. His fourteen years of life were for now an excuse, but Philippe knew that it would be up to him to help him to become a man.

When their mother died, Philippe was surprised to see that Céleste, usually so reserved and proud, actually came up to him, at first to talk about everyday futilities, and then, with time, about more and more serious issues. She was also worried about Raoul. And soon, it became evident to both Céleste and Philippe that they had to be parents for their little brother. While Céleste, who was more aware of the religion and of culture in general, was Raoul's instructor in those matters, Philippe showed him all virile traits that a Chagny, one of the most ancient noble families in France, must have. Virile traits which, after, he got to use quite well: saving his fiancée, even though he knew he was risking his life doing this.

Céleste had never been very demonstrative in her affections. It was in her nature. But Philippe was someone she knew she could trust, and Raoul, though he was only two years younger than her, had always been like her darling baby brother. And she was ready to do anything to protect them. Even if that meant protecting them from a madman haunting an Opera house.

And, as a good Catholic, she was of course concerned of their souls. Well, she knew of course Philippe was no saint, but learning from the Phantom himself that he had, or maybe was still having an affair with a dancer (and Céleste couldn't care less of her being a prima ballerina or a dancer in some filthy tavern) would mean a little discussion. But, at the moment, though she would never dare to say it out loud, Céleste didn't know if it was the fact that Philippe had a mistress or it was rather that it was the Phantom who had indirectly advised her of this situation.

But, when she came back home, and that she managed to rush towards her room to hide quickly the violin case under her bed and came to the living room, she didn't feel the courage of having a little talk about it to Philippe. As she saw this beautiful family portrait, with Raoul, Philippe and Christine chatting and laughing together, with the shadow of a toddler who would soon join them, it was heart-breaking for her to ruin it all. And at the same time, she felt so distant from them. Yes, it had been her choice of staying in her corner, repulsed by the only person of Christine and, especially, of her modest origins. And that evening, she started to regret it. And more than ever, she wanted to leave. Even leave France, away from her family, from the Opera Populaire, from the Phantom. But she knew that if she did, the madman would do anything to destroy her family.

Her heart sank even more, as Philippe and Raoul announced to her that they had been lucky enough to find, in as short as an afternoon, a home already all furnished in Paris for her. And already, they had purchased everything, and all that was left to do was that she had to sign a few papers. Céleste felt tears in her eyes because of her brothers' generosity. And more than ever, she knew she had to protect them. She wouldn't let the Phantom destroy them.

The next day, she decided to proceed as quickly as possible, and even managed to pack all clothing and other trinkets in the same type, to move in her new home the same day. The sooner she would install herself, the less stressed she felt about all her business with the Opera Populaire and the lies she often had to make up to justify herself. And, that Tuesday night, after one last meal with her family, she was unusually graceful towards Christine, much to not only the Swedish girl's pleasure, but also, to Philippe's and especially, Raoul's.

And, for the first night of her life, she was even full of a childish pride to say that she was sleeping in her own house. Her joy was so great that, during the whole night, she thought neither of the Opera Populaire nor of the threatening shadow of its Phantom.

But, in the morning, as she saw the violin case at the bottom of her bed, when she got up, she suddenly remembered everything. And most especially, that she had a violin lesson that afternoon and that she didn't practice at all.

Quickly, as soon as she got dressed and took her breakfast, she ordered her maid Annette and her butler Jérôme that she didn't want to be disturbed throughout the whole morning. These precautions taken, she finally got out the violin of its case, and started studying the scores the Phantom had given her last Monday.

One of the titles of the score was circled in red, and Céleste, especially when she took knowledge of the melody, knew it was the most important part of the whole ballet, well, for what was concerning her. It was the solo she had to play, the part where Prince Siegfried danced with Odette for the very first time. Just thinking that she would have to play all alone (or almost all alone) not only twisted her stomach, but made her pest even more towards that Phantom man. If it wasn't for the threat which was always hovering on her family, she would have told him her way of thinking once and for all, to finish this entire story. But inexplicably,

she realized that she didn't want those lessons to finish, thoughts she attributed to the fact that she had, within a few days, created a very strong bond with her instrument, and nothing else.

After a quick lunch, Céleste was a bit reassured by the fact that she didn't have to hide her violin anymore when she got out. And now, the only real pressure that was still on her was the Phantom's menacing shadow. And that was already quite a burden itself.

As she got out of the carriage, and entered the Opera Populaire, she was about to enter the corridor which leaded to the chapel when an arm quickly caught her shoulder. Already nervous because of her soon-to-come meeting, Céleste let out a little cry, while a few people were turning their heads, looking at her like if she was crazy. Mlle de Chagny lowered her head, hiding her blushing, and quickly turned towards the person that had stopped her. It was Mme Giry, the ballet mistress.

"Mademoiselle," started the middle-aged woman, "I just want you to know that if you ever need assistance in some way, I will do my best to help you. But I must warn you that my abilities are rather limited."

Céleste bowed her head slightly, as a sign of gratitude. What could she possibly say else? She remembered suddenly when, last Monday, Mme Giry had intervened at Schmidt's excitement about discovering the Opera Ghost. I would be careful with that if were you, monsieur. It was now quite evident to Céleste that Mme Giry knew well about the Phantom of the Opera. To what point, she couldn't tell. Was she her accomplice? Pretending to hold out her hand so her fall would be more shattering? Or was she the Ghost's slave, trying desperately to free herself by helping her victim? Céleste promised herself to find out eventually, but for now, her head bowing was the only thing the ballet mistress would receive from her. And, without further ado, Mlle de Chagny, in a firm pace, headed her head high towards the chapel.

As she entered, the Phantom was already there. Well, the way he came out of a corner like if he came out of nowhere made Céleste suppose that. And, surprisingly, she didn't jump. It looked like she just marked a point. And, deep inside, she couldn't help but smile at the idea she had just won a little victory, quite derisory, yes, but still a victory. And it seemed like even the Phantom had realized that, since he didn't seem too pleased that his great entry did not work.

"You're getting tough to impress," he remarked gloomily.

"Is that a problem?" Céleste replied, almost scared of her own audacity.

The Phantom did not answer. Mlle de Chagny had to use all the strength she had in her not to laugh, since the idea of him pouting in the dark was just too amusing. Without further ado, she put down her case and got out her violin, a light grin on her face. And, as she turned towards the Phantom, she had taken a more serious attitude.

"Well, I've practiced every score you have given me, especially the solo. Since I saw it circled in red, I suppose you wanted me to pay a special attention to it?"

"That's right," he answered without any expression.

"So… do you want me to start with that?" continued Céleste gravely.

The Phantom nodded, without saying anything else. While she was determined until now to stay calm, at any price, the young lady felt anger boiling in her and only waiting for the perfect moment to burst out. All of this made no sense. He was her family's worst enemy, and clearly, what he was actually doing with her was for no good, though she couldn't really understand how or why. She felt like shaking him to wake him from the numbness where he lingered, asking him why he was doing all this. She remembered, suddenly, that she had promised never to ask any questions. But she could at least ask him to be a little more… active. This seemed to go to a dead end.

"Now listen," started Céleste. "You can call me an arrogant pest as much as you want after what I am going to say. But… seriously, I don't why you're doing this, and I know it's for no good, though I really don't understand how it could be. But may it be for you, or for me, if we continue like this, we won't manage to do much. I'm not asking you to…" She was going to say "befriend", but it seemed so inappropriate in the context that she bit her lip and, for five seconds, tried to find a better word, as diplomatic as possible. But no other word came. Well, he needed her for now, so he probably wouldn't kill her. And that was the worst thing that could happen, wasn't it? Anyway, it seemed so insignificant. He wouldn't get too mad, though he had a quite violent temper. "I'm not asking you to befriend me. I'll do my best to be more amiable, but… I know it's very demanding, but can I ask the same of you?"

It took a bit of time before the Phantom condescended to answer. "Yes," he finally said. "I think I can do that." A little smile, indecipherable to Céleste, appeared on his lips. "So," he said more lightly. "Since the solo is your apotheosis, we will of course concentrate more on that."

Céleste grinned of contempt. And it seemed like if the Phantom, who saw her face at that moment, felt troubled of her being in such a state, before sneering silently. But the young lady was too preoccupied to notice, for she was preparing her scores and placing them on a music stand that seemed right there for her use. Then, seizing her violin, she placed it under her chin and, with a light smile, asked: "May I?" The Phantom bowed his head, as a signal to go on.

She started to play, as emotionally as she could, making the notes on her violin vibrating on the cold stone walls of the chapel. But, when came a more lighter part in the melody, as she had just played a few times, the Phantom suddenly lifted his gloved hand as to tell her to stop.

"Is… is there something wrong?" Céleste asked softly.

"It's your manner of playing. The notes aren't light enough. You have to lift your bow in the air as you play the last note in each time. Remember, swans are naturally light." he explained.

"Like… like this?" asked Céleste, playing a few notes and lifting her bow on the last one.

"Not quite." The Phantom walked towards her and stood behind her. His hand, for a swift instant, touched her right hand, which was holding the bow. But quickly, he removed it.

"Hum… You don't mind me… showing you, don't you?" He asked hesitantly. Céleste smiled at his surprising modesty. She didn't expect that at all of him. Well, maybe her little speech showed him once and for all she was worthy of his respect.

"No, of course not," she answered. "It's just my hand, after all, and it's just to teach me what to do."

Nodding his head, the Phantom took softly Céleste's hand. "Play the phrase you just executed."

Céleste did so, and as she attacked the last note, the Phantom made her lift her bow just as he wanted, making her note vibrate on the walls, like a little bell. It was perfect. She smiled and turned towards her teacher. "I think I understand now," she said.

"Very good. You can continue, now."

Céleste continued, and, at the moment where, usually, the violin was accompanied by an alto, she suddenly heard one playing with her. Still playing, she turned towards the music, to see that the Phantom was the one with the alto. She paid attention for a small moment to his hands, realizing it was the first time she was seeing them without their black leather gloves. They were perfect, for a musician's, with their long bony fingers. But, on them, she could see many scars, which intrigued her. Feeling the Phantom's glare on her, since he had realized that she was observing him, she turned with a smile, and continued to play, enjoying the perfect harmony of the instruments echoing so perfectly on the stone walls.

* * *

As Céleste closed the chapel's door behind her, Erik was thinking of what had happened that afternoon, while he was heading back to his lair.

Well, it looked like without realizing it, the Chagny girl had just simplified his plan. It would be easy to get her, now, and her damned brother also. It would perhaps take a long time before everything would be done. She was smart. He could feel it. But women, at the basis, were all the same. As he compared his mother, Madeleine, Luciana, the Khanum, and even his beloved Christine (though he would never admit out loud), he realized they had all this same weakness. Céleste could not be an exception. Or… maybe she could.

It was hard to describe, but the Chagny girl seemed, well, different. And he was even starting to think that calling her "Chagny girl" was sort of… disrespectful. He couldn't explain why or what was causing it, but he was starting to have towards her the same respect that he had for Mme Giry. Both Céleste and his ally in the Opera House had this sort of grace, which made them look so much like true ladies, the kind that you just had to take off your hat to salute them.

Yes, Céleste was lady-like, but Erik could feel that there was something else about her. Something savage, very strongly contained in that thick tamed varnish, but which sometimes seemed to be ready to crackle. It was a darkness he had always tried to find in Christine, without ever finding it.

Christine was so crystal-clear. She had a good nature, but her mind was a shallow pool with very few surprises, and it was quite easy to guess what she was going to do… except maybe those damned times where she unmasked him, once when he had brought her for the first time in his lair, and the other, like if the first time hadn't been enough of a lesson, in front of everyone, during the single representation of Dom Juan Triumphant. But, even though Erik realized all of this, Christine's beauty, and especially her voice were still haunting his mind. But what he was not realizing was that he was in love with her voice and her looks, which represented everything he would never get to be. Besides that, he never really knew Christine. If you asked Erik what was her favorite color, what made her laugh the most, he would have been quite embarrassed to answer.

It was only after a few minutes of this that Erik became conscious that, once again, he was comparing Céleste to Christine, and that it were to disadvantage his love to that fop's sister. He couldn't help, while he was finally arriving to the gondola, to curse out loud. How could she even dare to do that to him? She would regret it.

But now, the oath he had taken wasn't quite as solid as before. While he still despised Raoul, he didn't feel to hate Céleste as much as he did before, though he had every reason in the world to do so. Just some stupid damned and unexplained weakness which had to stop. He needed Céleste. He wouldn't let his worst enemy just run away with Christine like that.

But the remembrance of her smiling to him sincerely, while he was teaching her those little violin techniques, haunted his mind as he laid on his bed, until he finally fell asleep, in a dream that he considered as a nightmare, when he woke up, where Christine's traits wore somehow becoming blurry, and were replaced by Céleste's.

* * *

Two weeks passed. The whole Opera Populaire was ready for its grand opening. La Parilla, though she did it with very little enthusiasm, prepared a solo from Bizet's Carmen. The dancers, thankfully, had already learned very well the choreographies from Swan Lake. La Sorelli complained about the fact she only got to play Odile, and that the Giry brat got Odette's part. But, when she knew that the Phantom was back, she quickly decided to stop to nitpick about it. The prima ballerina was superstitious, and not very bright. And she remembered a bit too well all the pranks the Opera Ghost did to her, and didn't want them to start all over again. Yes, it was worth enduring Meg Giry skipping joyfully around the Opera house, so happy to learn she had obtained a part usually danced by the prima ballerina, until her mother sternly reminded her that she had to practice now that she had that promotion.

Céleste, also, was ready. She started to appreciate the Phantom, but only as a music teacher, of course. Yes, he was despicable, for he was her family worst threat, and that she had to constantly be on her guards. But he truly operated wonders with her violin-playing. She felt that, at each lesson, she had learned and improved so much more. And, now, she knew that she was quite ready to perform in front of all those people. Protected by the anonymity of those who played in the orchestra, though she would have a solo to do, her name wouldn't be known and her brothers wouldn't discover she had something to do with the Opera Populaire.

And that evening, everything went quite well. The ballet was excellent, La Parilla sang well, though the passion which normally accompanied Carmen's interpretation was singularly absent. Céleste's performance, according to M. Reyer's description, was "above anything he had ever heard". Mlle de Chagny was a virtuoso. And those who knew she was there, playing her violin with all of heart, could say nothing but agree with it.

The day just before the grand reopening, a note arrived, instructing that Box 5 should be kept empty, a command which Firmin and André executed with great zeal. And, that night, Erik listened to Céleste's music, and realized, while she was performing, that if he wanted to execute his plan, he would have to proceed faster than planned, because the more the time flew, the less he felt inclined to do it.

* * *

**Good? Bad? Let me know! To me, this isn't my best chapter, but don't worry: action will come soon! (Mwahaha.)**


	9. Chapter 8

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**Hello everybody! New chapter! **

**There are a few vulgar words in this chapter. You are warned. XD **

**Answers to reviews: **

**Lydia the tygeropean: **Thank you! ;) Et très bon français, en passant… :D

**lorxy:**Thanks! :D And glad you like my version of Erik. ;)

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything coming from ALW's Phantom of the Opera, nor Susan Kay's Phantom. Anything coming from Leroux's novel belongs to the public domain. **

* * *

**Chapter 8**

For the next few weeks, it became quite official that Céleste had become the official solo violinist of the Opera. It simply made her so joyful to hear M. Reyer praise her great talent, knowing that the conductor was a great musician. For the very first time since her parents had forbid her from continuing her dreams, she felt that finally, the world was ready to accept that she, Céleste de Chagny, had her place in the artistic world, and not only as a patroness. And, for now, her brothers knew nothing of all her business. With all the visits she paid them regularly, she could see that they were perfectly happy, with Christine and Raoul's baby who would probably come for the coming spring. And more than ever, she was determined to protect their peace at any price.

For what was of the Phantom, she had her lessons with him twice a week. For now, she was preparing herself for the upcoming opera, _Sleeping Beauty_. She was always trying her best to stay polite and even kind to him, though she stayed on her guards. And Erik, who for the first time of his life was starting to feel remorse about all of his plans, knew that he would have to act fast. The memory of Christine, and especially Raoul was still too strong in his mind, and he knew he wouldn't be in peace as long as he didn't do something about it. Anyway, he was past the point of no return, now.

It was only about a month and a half after _Swan Lake_'s representation, and just two weeks away from _Sleeping Beauty _that one afternoon, where Céleste came in for her lesson as usual that she saw André running towards her, as soon as she got off the carriage.

"Mademoiselle! Mademoiselle! This is… this is…"

André seemed in quite a shock. And, when Céleste saw the opened letter he was holding, with the too-well known red skull seal, she knew that this meant no good.

"Perhaps, monsieur, it would be better if we discuss of this somewhere else? At my home, maybe? I think it will avoid some unwelcomed ears to hear us."

She was, of course, talking about the Phantom.

"Very well," said the manager. "I'll go and fetch Firmin to come with me."

Half an hour later, Firmin and André arrived in front of Céleste's home, while she had arrived a few minutes earlier so everything would be ready for them. Finally, they all settled in her living-room, while Mlle de Chagny tried looking as calm as possible, though she was quite nervous about the Phantom's letter. Maybe now, she would finally understand what he wanted from her.

"Well, for a start, Mademoiselle, I think I'll let you read."

Delicately, Céleste took the letter, and her eyes quickly deciphered the spidery handwriting.

_I must say, Messieurs, that I am quite pleased with the fact you seem to have accepted to agree to my commands and to pay my salary regularly. However, there will be a few changes in your plans for the _Sleeping Beauty _representation. You will keep Jensen as Prince Philippe, La Parilla as Aurore (though I must say she plays her part better asleep than awoken) and La Sorelli as the Lilac Fairy. However, it will not be Madame Lefebvre who will sing Maleficent's part. For this performance, she will be replaced by Céleste de Chagny. I have enjoyed very much La Lefebvre in her younger years, but I judge now her voice has gotten too old and shaky, and doesn't have enough power anymore. And of course, you now that power, but also maturity are necessary for this role. This is why you will cast Mlle de Chagny, who I think responds perfectly well to those conditions, and though her genius in violin are undeniable, I believe she will be more useful for the scene than for the orchestra. Make sure that, since she has this promotion, to place her in the room which used to belong to Mlle Daaé. _

_I remain, Messieurs, your most loyal servant, _

_O.G. _

_P.S. For her performance, Mlle de Chagny shall be credited with her real name, and not a stage name. I am conscious this demand is a little more delicate to execute, but I still hold a lot of importance to it. And I think it is useless to remind to you, Messieurs, what could happen if you do not answer my commands. _

Well, that was the summit of catastrophe.

The puzzle's pieces were now assembling quite quickly in Céleste's head. Obviously, the Phantom wanted her to become a singer, taught by him, just like Christine.

Was… was he trying to do to her the same scenario as he did with Christine? If that was what he was trying to do, how did he expect to get revenge on Raoul with her? Dishonor her? Make her fall in love with him? Ha. That would never happen.

With her name known, Paris, and especially her brothers were going to know she was in business with the Opera Populaire. And she didn't want that to happen.

But Céleste was no damsel in distress. Did the Phantom truly expect she would just stay there crying on her fate, and being manipulated like some soulless puppet? No. Was the Phantom looking for war? Well, Céleste was quite ready so war could go between them.

Finally, she looked at Firmin and André, sitting, dumb, in their chairs.

"This is ridiculous, isn't it?" said Céleste. "And frankly, Messieurs, I will sing the part of Maleficent if this madman desires it, but there is no way my name shall appear anywhere."

"But, mademoiselle, you know that is quite impossible!" gasped Firmin.

"So what? Shall you let one man treat you like puppets? And anyway, it's HIS opera house, after all," said Céleste, sarcastically insisting on the "HIS". "He won't make it blow or something. How will he live, anyway? Make sure there is no employee staying alone, and I think everything will be fine. But seriously, Messieurs, how could a woman of my rank possibly agree to such a condition without putting her reputation in peril?"

* * *

Céleste did not go to her lesson that afternoon. She was too late, anyway. But, on the next one, she came at the Opera house, quite determined to ask the Phantom the meaning of this. Anyway, now, he couldn't ask that her name would be appearing on the posters for _Sleeping Beauty_, since Firmin has informed her, the day before, that the order had been sent to the printing works for the definitive publicities and that now, there was no turning back.

She entered the chapel, and, seeing that he was nowhere to be found, she grew furious. Usually, Céleste was so calm and posed, and never got angry. But today, she felt she would explose if she didn't shout. Anyway, the chapel was soundproof, since no one ever heard her playing during her lessons with the Phantom.

"WHERE ARE YOU? WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME? WHERE ARE YOU?"

Yes, she was shouting, and she couldn't care less. For the first time since… well, her childhood, she was throwing away all the principles of the perfect Victorian lady, letting go her true nature. And it seemed so savage and primitive to her that she was almost scared of herself.

"You missed your last lesson."

In a fury, Céleste turned towards the Phantom. She didn't care if her hair was a mess, or if her face was all red. She would have been pleased to know that every lock was well in its place, and that anger, instead of making her face all red and twisted, made her a bit paler, and her eyes brighten in an almost supernatural light. It fit her well. She was of those women which anger made them more beautiful. And Erik, though he was doing everything not to think too much about it, was the first one to realize it.

"Well, after what happened, Monsieur, I think that you are smart enough to guess why I didn't come. Now, I think you owe me an explanation."

"I remember I made you promise never to ask questions, Mademoiselle."

"That was before."

The Phantom did not answer, which made Céleste a lot more confident, maybe a bit too much for her own good. She continued her head high, in an arrogant and mocking posture.

"So you thought I am just a… just a woman? Just like your precious Christine, maybe?"

Even years later, Céleste would never be able to explain why she had been so reckless. The only mention of Christine was too much for the Phantom to bear. His eyes flashing in a murderous blaze, he hit Céleste, stunning her. The last words she could hear before falling unconscious roared in her ears: "How dare you, you bitch?!"

For long minutes, Erik stared at the fainted young woman at his feet, wondering if he should just let her there. Inside him, he was still furious that Céleste had dared to mention _her _like that, and in such a horrible way. In her voice, he could feel that she didn't like Christine too much. How did she dare to do such a thing? Well, it was true that if nobody loved or liked Christine, things would have been a little bit easier. But at the same time, he felt remorse because of his gesture towards her. Where did it come from? Never, never he had felt remorse before. And now, it was starting with her? This couldn't be. Was this a spell? Was Céleste de Chagny some beautiful witch trying to seduce him? He couldn't let that happen.

It looked like he would have to take drastic measures.

Without further hesitation, he took Céleste in his arms, and disappeared with her through the shadows. He would keep her as a prisoner in his lair, until she would accept to carry out his commands.

* * *

When Céleste woke up, she could still hear the Phantom's insulting last sentence ring in her head. Everything was still confusing around her, so the first thing she did was, of course, defending herself. A Chagny wasn't insulted with such impunity.

"How dare you say I'm a… a…" Her voice was reflecting very well the dryness of her mouth, which made her feel quite like an idiot. Especially that she hesitated like someone retarded, while what happened was that she had only stopped just before she was almost going to say that dreadful word.

"A bitch?" She heard a voice behind her, and turned to see the Phantom who had finished her sentence for her, and with such casualness that Céleste blushed. "Because you disserve it, maybe, and that your damn pride will maybe have a good lesson. And I'm rather surprised, mademoiselle, that you seem to worry more about your insulted pride than where you are."

While the Phantom was talking, Céleste had taken notice that there was water everywhere around them, and that she was actually in a boat. A gondola, to be more precise. The boat's floor was covered of a thick Persian rug, which made a comfortable improvised bed for the time she had fainted. And, at the gondola's back, the Phantom was rowing slowly. _Oh no. _She knew exactly, thanks to Raoul's descriptions, where she was going. He was taking her to his lair.

"Why are you taking me there?" She finally asked, having fully recovered from her fainting. "Why must you take me to your lair?"

The same mocking smile which always made Céleste want to hide six feet underground appeared on the Phantom's face. She absolutely hated it when he did that. "It looks like your brother has described his adventures quite well to you. So, what version did you received of his rescue? Did he tell you that he came in and freed Christine without any difficulty, and that I stayed there sniveling?" As he mentioned Christine, bitterness combined with the mockery of his voice.

"No," answered Céleste with disgust in her voice. "He said he got almost drowned while coming here, and that when he arrived, you almost strangled him, and in order to save his life, you forced Christine to stay with you and to kiss you."

"Really? Well, he has climbed a few degrees in my esteem. But he is still quite low."

Céleste did not answer. She was thinking of what Raoul had told her. Just after Christine had kissed the Phantom, he had suddenly decided to let her go, and Raoul with her. But why? Now, it seemed quite clear that the Phantom was now seeking revenge for that. Everything was just so confusing.

"Why did you let her go?"

She immediately regretted to have asked that question, but it really slipped from her lips. _Me and my big mouth have caused me way too much trouble today. _But thankfully, the Phantom didn't burst into some tantrum this time. For a few minutes, he didn't answer, still regularly rowing on the dark water. But Céleste could see that he was thinking intensely.

Really, why did he let her go? Erik, though he didn't want to think about it, remembered how he felt when Christine had kissed him. He had dreamed of her soft lips on his for so long, and now, it was finally happening. But, as she kissed him, his dream, at the same time, broke into a thousand pieces. This wasn't at all what he was expecting. This wasn't a lover's kiss. There was no passion in it, only a sort of bitter-sweet kindness full of modesty and especially, pity. And, just after she was done, he didn't like at all what he was reading in Christine's eyes. Pity. Erik had a pride himself. He never wanted to be dependant of anybody or pitied. And now, the one love of his life had nothing but that, pity, towards him. And, in a flash, he saw how his life would be with Christine. Would he be ready to pass the rest of his life with a woman who would never love him as much as he did, the shadow of her fop of a fiancé always hovering around her heart, who would wake up each morning by his side with a smile which did not say "Good morning, my love" but "Good morning, poor Erik"? No. And for that moment, he felt nothing more than hatred mixed with some sort of nostalgia towards Christine. She disserved to pay for it, and by revenging on Raoul, it would be the perfect punishment for her.

Finally, Erik turned towards Céleste, and saw that they had arrived at the banks.

"It's none of your business, anyway," he answered roughly. "Now, just get out of the boat and don't try to run away."

Sighing exaggeratedly, Céleste got out of the boat, crossing her arms and watching the Phantom pulling the gondola on the bank, her left eyebrow higher than the other.

"So what now?" She asked sarcastically. "I suppose I'm a bit too useful to be strangled to death or tortured, so are you going to make sing Maleficent's part until I faint again?"

"Maybe," the Phantom answered, and Céleste was surprised to find amusement's shadow on his lips. "Actually, you are going to stay here until you are willing to be a good obedient child."

"I'm a bit too old to be a child," said Céleste, slightly pouting but amused.

"Really? How old are you?" the Phantom continued in the same manner.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you that you mustn't ask a lady her age?"

"If you don't, I'll guess. And I don't think you'll appreciate it very much."

Céleste lifted her eyes towards the undergrounds' ceiling. "I'm twenty-four. Happy, now?"

"Well, you still didn't agree to sing Maleficent's part, so I'll say no. Now, come."

In the darkness, the Phantom headed towards a few levers, and lifted one. Then, suddenly, Céleste could see little chandeliers going down and lightening by themselves, in an almost magical way, since… well, magic didn't exist in this world. Or did it?

All around them, candles seemed to start lightening without anything which could have seemingly set fire to them as well, and soon, the Phantom's lair became quite visible. "Oh my God," gasped Céleste.

It was arranged just like a house, only, without the walls, and many artistic elements, costumes, sculptures, paintings, were all spread here and there. But the lair had his two most imposing elements. The first one was a pipe organ, with music scores spread all around it. And Céleste couldn't help wondering how he actually had that down there. The second one was a bed. It was enormous, carved in a swan's shape, and the velvet sheets were in a shade of such a bright red that it was quite visible. Céleste could guess a bit too well why it was there, and swallowed, uncomfortable.

Forgetting for a moment where she was and with who she was, Céleste advanced slowly in the lair, looking around her in an amazed gaze.

"Glad to see you like my home," said the Phantom sarcastically.

Mlle de Chagny turned quickly towards him, blushing, like if she was caught on some crime. But he was no longer paying any attention to her, and was heading towards the organ.

"What are you doing?" Céleste asked.

"Giving you time to think. Aren't you glad I'm in a better mood and that I'm willing to wait?" His mocking smile was back. She hated it. She absolutely hated it. Why? Because it didn't make her embarrassed, nor did it shock her. That was the point. She realized that she _liked _it. Without further ado, she turned away proudly, tripped on some chest, almost sprawled on the ground (and thank God she didn't see the Phantom's face at that moment) and sat on a chair near from where she was.

At first, she didn't think at all about her situation. She decided to calm down her spirits a bit, trying to listen only to the sound of the lake's water flowing. From time to time, she was looking towards the Phantom. He seemed to be writing something. A threatening note? Or… maybe was he composing? No, it couldn't be that. If he was composing, he would probably try out a few notes on the organ. But soon, she realized that the Phantom was often looking at her intently, like if he was… studying her. Céleste retained herself from lifting her eyes towards the ceiling and decided that it was more than time to think about everything.

Well, as long as her name would remain unknown from the public, it wasn't such a big deal. The posters, the leaflets, everything was probably definitely printed now, and the Phantom, for once, had no control on that. Well, that was one victory against him. Anyway, what could he possibly do? He wouldn't make the chandelier crash again, nor would he kill some stagehand since measures had been taken, and making La Parilla croak like he did once with La Carlotta wouldn't be a bad thing at all. Céleste retained herself from giggling imagining La Parilla's face when she would start croaking in the middle of _Sleeping Beauty_.

Finally, she got up and said, with a smile:

"I'll do it. But, tell me… Will I still get to have violin lessons?"

She felt a bit of bitterness thinking of it. Manifestly, the Phantom had changed his plans. It was foolish of her to have asked this, but she would truly miss her violin lessons. It was _her _instrument, after all.

"Of course." The Phantom lifted up his head from his work, and quickly got up, his face unexpressive, contrasting with the wide smile of delight which appeared on Céleste's face when he had agreed to continue violin with her. "We'll start right now, since we have little time before the representation."

Céleste headed towards the organ, had a slight cough to clear out her voice a bit, and gazed at the organ's keys.

"Do you know how to play the organ?" The Phantom asked.

"A little bit," answered Céleste. "When I spent a year in a convent, the organist sister taught me the bases. She said this instrument could play any music in the world."

"It can," the Phantom said, dreamily.

A few seconds passed in silence. And Erik, suddenly remembering what was going on, cleared his voice and said more gravely:

"Shall we warm up?"

* * *

Two weeks after, everything was ready for _Sleeping Beauty_'s representation. With an intensive training, where she had a lesson everyday half of violin and half of singing in the room the Phantom had assigned for her, the same that used to belong to Christine, before. Each time she arrived, the Phantom was already there and Céleste preferred not to ask how did he get there. Well, she was pretty sure now that Christine wasn't entirely pure now, with that madman who had access to her room all the time. But anyway, now, she knew her parts very well. The role of Maleficient wasn't too complicated: she had an aria at the beginning, where she cursed the little Aurore of dying the day of her sixteen years of life, and another where, disguised as an old woman, she was going to give a rose bouquet to the princess with a needle hidden it in, causing Aurore to fall asleep until her prince would come and wake her up with a kiss. And it that scene, she would sing her joy of seeing her revenge fulfill, until the Lilac Fairy came in and told her that she had lost the game anyway.

After her first practice in the Phantom's lair, he had blindfolded her and took her back to the chapel. And, since then, she hadn't gone back there. Though she would never admit it, she would have loved to go back, since the place, from the first sight, had fascinated her. But she didn't dare to ask, so the Phantom wouldn't have some wicked idea from her demand. Anyway, why would she want to go back there?

With great satisfaction, she had seen all the publicity for _Sleeping Beauty_, where her name was nowhere to be found. During all her singing and violin lessons, the Phantom had never mentioned anything about it, which certainly meant he knew nothing about all her little scheme. And even if he did find out, Firmin and André had taken all measures so nothing too bad would happen. All employees were warned of staying in little groups of at least three people, and were placed in strategic places in the theater.

There was absolutely nothing to fear.

As Céleste got ready in the room, putting on Maleficent's long dark purple robe, letting her blond hair free on her back and wearing a strange hat in the shape of horns, she heard a knock on her door. As soon as she said: "Come in!" Mme Giry entered the room.

"I hope you are ready for tonight," said the ballet mistress with a gentle smile.

Céleste grinned with a little nervous laugh. This wasn't going to be first time she was going to perform alone, but tonight, everyone was going to see her. She knew she was ready, but still… She felt a childish excitement at the idea she was going to perform in front of a public. And at that moment, she realized how much she had changed since she had left the convent. Was she still the reserved and cold young lady that once she was? Looking at herself now, the answer was, well, no. Her little nervous laugh, which would have been so undignified to her a few months earlier (not to say a few weeks earlier), seemed so insignificant. And somehow, things were better this way.

"_He _has asked me to give you this," Mme Giry continued, insisting a bit on the "_He_", and giving Céleste a beautiful red rose, with a black ribbon tied around it. The young woman's eyes widened a bit, and swiftly, she took the rose from Mme Giry's hand with a quick word of gratitude. Without saying anything else, the ballerina mistress got out of the room, leaving a confused Céleste contemplate the rose in her hands, before she shrugged and got out a vase from a closet, pouring in a bit of water and placing the rose in it, well in evidence, on her dressing table. And, as she heard the affluence in front of her room, she knew it was time for her to go towards the wings.

_The show must go on. _

* * *

Act I went on without any mishaps. Céleste sang her aria in such a powerful way, with anger and distress mixed in it. More than one member of the audience was amazed by this unknown singer, and never would they have suspected that Céleste de Chagny, the last descendant of one of France's most ancient families, was actually on the stage. La Sorelli, well… danced like she did you usually, with great technique but very few emotion, just like La Parilla sang. Now, Act II was starting, and soon, everything was going to be over for Céleste… At least, she hoped so.

Just as Act II was starting, at the part of the opera where the kingdom was joyfully celebrating Princess Aurore's birthday, Céleste raised her robe's hood, hiding Maleficent's horns and hiding her face into the shadows, and grabbed the rose bouquet she was supposed to give to the princess, so she would prick herself and fall asleep. For a few minutes, since she wasn't going on scene right away, she watched with a bit of condescension La Parilla perform. Really, it was ridiculous to see her as a sixteen-year-old innocent and graceful princess. She was too womanly, and looked and sounded too experienced to sing Aurore's part. Certain innocence and ingenuity were missing. But anyway, whatever part La Parilla did, it was pretty much the same phenomenon that happened: she could have been very well replaced by a music box.

Finally, Céleste got on scene, mysteriously approaching La Parilla/Aurore and, with a graceful bow, offering her the rose bouquet. The prima donna approached to grab the bouquet, and suddenly, shrieked, in a little cry of pain which was a bit too real to have been played, knowing La Parilla's little talent in acting. And already, Céleste could see drops of blood on her finger. That wasn't supposed to happen.

And, straight after La Parilla's shriek, an evil laugh banged on the walls of the theater, and no one could hear or see where it came from. But from who it came from, everyone knew it a bit too well.

Already, superstitious Sorelli was shrieking of terror in the wings.

"HE'S HERE! THE PHANTOM OF THE OPERA!" she cried, hysterical, while a few ballerinas were crying with her and that Meg Giry, the only one who seemed to stay in a certain serenity, was trying to calm everyone down.

"Where is he? Where is he?" Cried Herr Schmidt from his box, immediately reaching for a suitcase, taking out a camera, and red of eagerness at the idea he was going to photograph the famous Opera Ghost.

"I do not understand, Messieurs, how come Mademoiselle Céleste de Chagny has not received the praise she disserves until now for her performance," the Phantom's voice echoed strongly. Célest retained herself from lifting her eyes towards the ceiling. Great. There went her anonymity. Tomorrow, everyone in Paris would now she had performed on scene like some vulgar artist, including her brothers. She just hoped no one would take the Phantom's words seriously. Well… that would probably not happen.

A cry, this time coming from La Parilla, drew Céleste's attention away. Black brownish spots turning into some sort of warts started to appear on the prima donna's hand, spreading at an amazing speed on her arms, and very soon, on her face. Just in front of Céleste's eyes, the disaster announced by the Phantom in his note was revealing not only to her, but to the whole public. Almost hysteric, though it only showed by her hands trembling, Céleste looked into the rose bouquet, to see a big needle covered with blood drops. The Phantom probably slipped it in while no one was looking, and probably the poison which was attacking La Parilla's skin was coming from the needle which she had pricked herself a few minutes ago.

This was a bit too much for not only Céleste, Sorelli and La Parilla, but also the public, who started to run away in general panic while the Phantom's laugh was still roaring in the theater, and that the curtains closed quickly. Throwing down the bouquet, Céleste lifted the pans of her robe and ran away from the scene.

She didn't want to go back to her room, knowing the Phantom could come and get her there. Sometimes blocked by the frightened crowd, Céleste was desperately looking around her, until she heard a voice calling her: "Mademoiselle… de Chagny, isn't it?"

Céleste turned, to see in front of her a man perhaps a few years older than her who seemed to have come straight out from some oriental tale. He was smiling to her, but in a way she didn't like at all. He looked like some Arabian Bluebeard, and it wasn't at all to reassure her.

"Do you need any assistance?" The man continued, with a hint of foreign accent.

"No, thank you," Céleste said quickly, wishing to get rid of that man for good. "I was just heading towards my room to get changed since the opera seems to be over…"

She saw at that moment that the man wasn't listening to her anymore. She shivered, as she saw a murderous glare pass in his eyes. When she turned towards the direction where he was looking, she could see another man, older, who seemed pretty much as the same origin as he was, dressed like any other Occidental man, at the exception that he was wearing a turban.

But quickly, "Bluebeard" turned back to her. "Allow me to insist, mademoiselle."

Just in time, like a guardian angel, Mme Giry arrived.

"Mademoiselle! M. Firmin is looking for you. It is urgent, please follow me quickly, you will get changed later."

Quickly, as they headed towards the western entrance of the Opera house, Céleste knew that Mme Giry had only made a diversion, and was grateful to her for it. But where was she going to lead her? She became worried, especially when the two women got out of the Opera Populaire and that Céleste saw a carriage stopped just in front of the entrance.

"This is enough," shouted Céleste. "May I know, Mme Giry, what is the meaning of this? What are your relations with the Opera Ghost, now? Are you his accomplice? Who is he, anyway?"

Mme Giry sighed deeply, as she had all the pressure of the world on her shoulders. "You can trust me, Mademoiselle. But please, let's stay quiet. _He _could hear us."

Nervously, the ballet mistress turned towards the Opera Populaire, scrutinizing its roof, like if she was trying to find, in between the sculptures representing the nine Greek Muses, some dark shadow shaped like a man.

"Please, let's hurry before he comes here to find us," begged Mme Giry. As Céleste and she turned towards the carriage, a man wearing a turban showed himself at the door, the same man who "Bluebeard" was looking at in such a deadly way.

"Monsieur?" asked Céleste, hesitantly.

"Please, Mademoiselle, climb in," the man said gallantly but with a certain anxiety in his voice. "And simply call me Daroga."

* * *

**So, how was it? Let me know in a little review! They always make my day! **


	10. Chapter 9

**And here's another chapter! Part of it is a bit of a resume for those of you who didn't read Susan Kay's novel, and explains a bit why Erik is a lot younger in this story. So once again, enjoy! **

**Answers to reviews: **

**Igenlode Wordsmith:** Oh yes, "faux-culs". XD "Cul" didn't have back then the vulgar meaning it has today. Sometimes, old words become pejorative and sometimes even vulgar. "Cul" is an example.

And yes, "toddler" was meant to be there. ;)

What I mean by "the only person of Christine" is really everything. Her ingenuity, her sensibility, her modest origins, all little elements which are annoying Céleste. I'll correct that when I'll feel less lazy for it. (Shame on me)

And Céleste (though she won't admit it out loud) is reluctant to lose the Phantom's tuition, since okay, she has every reason in the world to hate him and to stay on her guards with him, but hey, she has to admit it, he is a good violin teacher! ;)

About the Phantom touching Céleste's hands… Well, for the Phantom's deformity, I'm basing myself on what he had in the 25th anniversary edition (with Ramin Karimloo). I didn't want a complete one like in Leroux, and in the 2004 movie, it was. A. Total. Joke. So he doesn't really have the "zombie-like" hands like in the book, if I can describe them like that. It's just that… you know, touching Céleste like he does, he only touched Christine like that. And remember the Phantom is troubled when he thinks of Céleste: he starts comparing her to Christine, etc.

For now, Erik's attraction to Céleste is of course her "dark side", if I can call it like that, and her appearances, because Céleste is what you can call a beautiful young woman. So, for now, there's "sex-appeal" playing its game. XD I always thought Christine was too innocent for Erik, (and that's one of the main reasons why I'm a Raoul supporter), while Céleste has a maturity which I think Erik is looking for.

And for the orchestra… Well, let's just say that what happens in the Opera, stays in the Opera! XD

But thanks for the "self-promotion"! I'll admit I did start looking a bit at your stories… You'll certainly receive a few reviews from me! ;)

**Lydia the tygeropean:** It's true Erik ruins a lot of performances… Let's see… Il Muto… Dom Juan Triumphant… Sleeping Beauty… Gosh. XD

**PhantomLilac:** The Daroga is awesome, I agree! *Fangirl squee* But I still prefer Erik (of course).

**Erik's guest:** Thank you so much! Your review sure took me on surprise! Well, for "Bluebeard", you'll know who he is very soon. He is linked to Erik's story in Persia, that's all I can tell you. For the "Bluebeard", well, he doesn't really have a blue beard, Bluebeard is a fairy tale character based on the historical character of Henry VIII, a guy who had many wives which disappeared mysteriously. Actually, he had killed his wives and put their still-bloody corpses in a locked room. Very creepy. And it's a fairy-tale for children by Charles Perrault. So Céleste, who remembers that fairy tale, thinks that the guy looks like Bluebeard, (especially that I don't know why, but Bluebeard is always illustrated dressed in an oriental style…) so… here you go. ;)

**TheCrimsonPen:** I received your PM! Thank you so much, it was really kind of you and I'll answer you as soon as possible! And yes, esthetically speaking, Jessica Stam is how I represent Céleste to myself. Before, I was hesitating between Jessica, Natalie Dormer and Holliday Grainger… But now, I think Holliday, though she is very pretty, has too much of a chubby face, and Natalie, even though I absolutely adored her in The Tudors and that I adore her in Game of Thrones, is a bit too mature for Céleste… So Jessica is perfect. ;) If you want to know how Céleste looks like, think of Jessica Stam or Elsa in Frozen. J

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything coming from ALW's Phantom of the Opera nor Susan Kay's Phantom. Anything coming from Leroux's Fantôme de l'Opéra belongs to the public domain. **

* * *

**Chapter 9**

As Céleste finally settled in the carriage, the Daroga knocked on its roof as a signal for the coachman that they could leave. As they got farther and farther from the Opera house, the young lady felt a lot less tensed, instinctively knowing that she could trust the Persian and Mme Giry. Finally, Céleste broke the silence:

"So… what do you know about the Phantom of the Opera?"

Mme Giry lifted her head, a sad smile in her face.

"It's a long story. Our knowledge put together, we know many things, but I believe we will never know anything. What is unknown from us, he will take it to his grave. His real name is Erik. And later, he discovered his family name was Destler."

So the Opera Ghost had a name, like everyone else. Erik. The simple discovery of his name made him somehow a lot more human for Céleste.

"I don't know where he is born," continued Mme Giry. "I just know his father died before his birth, and that his mother disdained him since she set her eyes on him. She didn't allow him to get out of the house, for the village's inhabitants were very superstitious. I don't know much of his childhood when he was still with his mother. I just remember he told me once, on his fifth birthday, he had refused to wear his cloth mask to come to the dinner table. His mother got so angry she took him in front of a mirror and showed him his face. It was the first time he had ever seen it. He thought it was a monster and he broke the mirror with his hands. Have you ever noticed he has scars on his hands?"

"Yes," said Céleste. "I remembered I was wondering where it came from. So… it all happened then?"

"Yes," answered Mme Giry. "His mother didn't even take care of his wounds, though he was bleeding to death. A woman did. And I think that's why he is so obsessed by mirrors. Even today, he still thinks they are magical."

"He's a master with them," the Daroga added, gloomily. "He knows how to control them in a way he can make people see only what he wants them to see. Anything. Anything except his face."

After a heavy silence, Mme Giry finally continued.

"From a very young age, he has shown great abilities. He's not only a composer and a musician, mademoiselle. He's a genius… He's also a magician, an architect, he draws very well, he…"

A sob interrupted Mme Giry. Céleste, with a sadden look, took the ballerina's mistress hand gently. She sighed, and finally continued.

"He has this voice since he is very young. His mother often said it couldn't be a gift of God, but of the devil. And though it breaks my heart to admit it, I don't know if she was right or wrong."

Céleste couldn't help agreeing with Mme Giry. She had heard many times Erik's voice, when he was helping her learning Maleficent's part, and had understood why Christine had been so easily fascinated by it. She did feel, though, that it was sort of contained during her singing lessons. It had to be simply angelic when he let it go for good. It was truly the voice of an angel… But there were not only angels in Heaven, but also in Hell. Céleste knew that Erik certainly didn't come from Heaven, but strangely, to say that he came from Hell was a whole other story.

"He left his mother when he was about seven years old. He told me a mob attacked his house and that he had been injured. His mother wanted to get married again, and he wanted her to be happy. So he left… but he stumbled across a Gypsy camp."

Tears were falling on Mme Giry's face, but she carried on Erik's story anyway.

"He did learn from them many medical abilities, but he was treated mostly like a beast. His master used him in his freak show, calling him the "Devil's Child". One day, they arrived at Paris, near the Opera Populaire. I was starting in the ballet chorus back then. The other girls and I went to see the Gypsies' attractions, and there was that freak show. He was in it. Everyone was just throwing rubbish on him, while he was nothing more than a poor child who never had luck. When the show ended, I just couldn't go. I hid myself behind a caravan and I watched him play with a rope. Then his master came back… and he wanted to do to him something so horrible I don't even dare to describe it… and… and… he only wanted to defend himself, mademoiselle, I'm sure of it… He took the rope and… he strangled his master. If he didn't… I don't even want to think of what would have happened. He got out of his cage, since his master had opened it before… well… but a gipsy saw him and got everyone after him. But I succeeded in taking him swiftly by the hand and bringing him unseen to the Opera house. He hid there… and I took care of him, I nourished him… He even became like a son to me, mademoiselle, as much as you can be his mother, of course… But that didn't hold him from leaving the Opera house at fifteen… I thought he wasn't really going to do it. But he was tired of always hiding in the shadows, and he wanted to see the world. And he saw nothing but horrors."

Mme Giry couldn't continue. Tears were falling on her cheeks, and her shoulders were shaking a bit, but no sob could be heard. Never Antoinette Giry showed her feelings publicly, and already, what was going on was far past the limits of decency. But this was no ordinary moment. With a little nod, she silently asked the Daroga to continue her story.

"During his travelling, I got to meet him and to see his many talents for such a young age, since he wasn't even twenty yet." the Persian started. "Before I came here, to Paris, after many unfortunate events, I was at the Shah of Mazanderan's service. He was looking for an architect for his unfinished palace, and since this young man had nothing, I decided to give him a chance. I was sure he could stay under my guidance, for the Shah is malleable and weak. But I didn't count on his mother, the Khanum. She totally controls her son, mademoiselle, and she is the real leader of the country. She has a second son, a lot cleverer than his brother. He is her golden child, and she has raised him in a way he is reminded constantly that because of his power and birth, he can receive and do anything."

"Very quickly, the Khanum had become intrigued of Erik's always-masked face. I had warned the Shah that he absolutely refused to show his face, which he accepted, especially he saw the plans Erik had prepared for him. But with the Khanum, it was a whole other thing. I did everything which was in my power never to leave him alone with her, but it was no use. One night, she found a way to break into his room with guards. And as soon as she saw his face, she had thought of an amusement for her younger son's education."

"He became her "angel of death". He had to come up with sophisticated traps and torture devices not only for her amusement, but also for her son. The boy became one of the cruelest persons I have ever met. You must be prudent, mademoiselle. The man you have met, just before you came here – it is him."

Céleste's eyes widened. "But… but I don't understand… What do I have to do with all of this?"

The Daroga lifted a hand. "I'll finish this story first, to give you a few recommendations after. When the palace's construction was very advanced, enough for the Shah and his family to move in, the Khanum convinced her elder son that Erik would become a danger for him, since he knew where every room, where every secret passageway was. I was put at the head of the organization set to arrest him, but since I had befriended him – of course, as much as you can be friends with him – I decided instead to help to run away, though it meant not only his head, but also mine would be put on price. We found a refuge in France. I offered him to stay with me, but he refused. He didn't want to be dependant of me in any way. He has lived hell, mademoiselle, but he has the pride of an emperor." The Daroga had a very thin shadow of a smile while saying the last sentence.

Silence followed, which Céleste, after a few minutes, finally broke.

"So I supposed that he headed towards the Opera Populaire, where he had lived for a few years when he was younger, and he met you again, madame?"

"Yes," answered Madame Giry, calmer. "It had been ten years since he had gone, but I hadn't forgotten him. Meanwhile, I got married, I had Meg, my husband died and I became the ballet mistress. I knew somehow that one day, he would come back… But I didn't expect him to come back the way he was now… When he was still a child, the Opera house was his playground. He liked to play pranks on everybody, especially with the fact that no one could ever suspect that he was the one behind it. When he came back, he started to have that habit again… La Sorelli started to cry it was a ghost behind all this. So, in order to have a living, he started to build himself an identity as the Opera Ghost. He started blackmailing, and I must say it has always worked quite well. He knew the passageways since he was a boy. They have always been there, though no one ever knew of it. With the money he started to receive in exchange of his services, if I can speak of them like this, he started to build his lair. Probably your brother has talked of you about it?"

"Yes," Céleste answered simply, before clearing her throat and admitting: "I've… I've been there."

"What?" The Daroga and Mme Giry said in a chorus.

"I got mad at him. It was a big mistake. I starting to threaten him that I would stop obeying the commands he gave to me and I said something I shouldn't have said. He was so angry he slapped me and I fell unconscious. In order to make me submitted to his will, he was going to keep me as a prisoner in his lair. But I had already arranged everything with MM. Firmin and André so my name wouldn't appear on the posters for Sleeping Beauty. What he… well, Monsieur Erik was asking of me was to sing and to be credited for it? I could do the first thing, but not the second, and anyway, even if he wanted to, there was no turning back. So I accepted… And catastrophe stroked…"

Céleste lowered her eyes, thinking of what happened to La Parilla. A poetic punishment indeed, to be cursed in what was probably her vice. But still…

"Will… Will La Parilla stay in this state?" She asked, worried.

"No." The Daroga answered. "After tomorrow, it will be all gone."

Céleste nodded slowly her head. "Do I know everything about him, now?"

"All we know," said Mme Giry.

"Everything but what is behind the mask," the Daroga added in a low voice.

"Why did you tell me this?"

"Well, mademoiselle, you'll have to decide what to do, now." said the Daroga. "I believe you are spirited enough to be aware of all of this. Especially that it is easy to see that Soliman has an eye on you."

"Soliman… that's the name of the Shah's brother, isn'it?"

"Yes. He has seen me, so he probably knows Erik isn't far away. And if he hears all about the story of the Phantom of the Opera – which will probably happen, if he didn't already – he'll know he's here. I was going to recommend you to stay away from him, as much as possible, but…"

The Daroga sighed before continuing.

"It would be probably even better if you stopped all contact with the Opera Populaire."

Céleste gasped. Suddenly, she didn't even want to leave the Opera. Not like this. Throughout Mme Giry's and the Daroga's stories, she had started to see the Phantom in a whole other eye. As the story went further on, inexplicably, she was saying to herself that she couldn't leave him alone. Now that she knew too much of his secrets, it was like she was linked to him. She was even sure that Christine herself didn't know the quarter of all of this. But anyway, what was the use? The Phantom hated her, anyway.

Or did he?

She remembered his mocking smiles, how his eyes sometimes twinkled when she was playing her violin or she was singing… All those little signs that showed that maybe he didn't hate her that much. Maybe it was simply Raoul he hated through herself. But with time, it seemed like this dislike had worn off. Céleste did physically look like Raoul, but her eyes were brighter and malicious, and her hair, instead of being a shade of dirty blonde like her brother, was so fair it seemed almost white and silver. And for the character, well, she knew she was his complete opposite.

But still, the Phantom was using her.

Was he? She didn't even know how or why he was using her to get his revenge on Raoul. But anyway, what other motive could be valuable for all of this? Maybe the Daroga or Mme Giry knew about this…

"You probably both know that he wanted to use me to get revenge on my brother? Do you know why?"

While Mme Giry nodded her head negatively, the Daroga answered:

"His plan proves well his artistic side. A clever man would have simply kidnapped you, asked your brother for a ransom and took advantage of him coming to get you to kill him. But he wanted you to slowly climb the levels of the Opera house to become the prima donna, and later, make everyone believe he had dishonored you. This would mean for you, of course, that you would have been obliged to marry him. Your brother wouldn't have accepted it, of course, and would have provoked him to a duel, where he would have died. His revenge on the Chagnys would have been complete, then."

Céleste lowered her eyes, hiding her tears of anger. So he was acting all along. Very clever.

What… was she mad that he had been playing his game? Was she attached to him more than she thought she was? No. This was ridiculous. It couldn't be. She was foolish. Simply foolish.

"But I do believe, mademoiselle," continued the Daroga, "that he started to feel weaken in his plan. The last time I saw him, he said he was going to do his best so you could be well established after all this… affair."

"That's kind of him," said Céleste grimly.

"I wouldn't be that severe, mademoiselle. I never saw him having any remorse of that sort. Maybe he became more attached to you then you think. But anyway, with Soliman around, he will have other things to care of."

The Daroga approached slowly of Céleste, forcing her to look into his eyes.

"If we told you this, it's because we know you can keep a secret, and that I think you will be more reluctant to trap him for good in some way, after what he was planning to do to you. Erik doesn't need another soul hating him. Also, you must know who Soliman is. Believe me, I know it's hard to believe a human being can be totally bad, but it becomes true with him. That man is pure evil and laughs when he sees pain. And he is determined to get what he wants. Stay on your guards. Your family is too closely linked to the Angel of Death, and if he comes to know that link, especially the one you have with him… I don't dare imagining what could happen to him."

Céleste's eyes were full of tears. "I will stay away from Erik, if it is necessary," she said in a small voice, without saying what she was thinking, that she didn't want him to get hurt.

* * *

It was past midnight when the carriage stopped in front of the Opera Populaire. Swiftly, Céleste, Mme Giry and the Daroga got out, and the young lady, escorted by two unusual bodyguards, headed towards her room to get changed, since she was still in Maleficent's outfit. And it was pretty sure Erik was going to be there, waiting for her.

Céleste, so the Phantom wouldn't go away with the sight of Mme Giry and the Daroga, got in her room first. As she lit up a candle, she looked around her and saw no one… until a voice suddenly said:

"Antoinette, Nadir, come in. I know you are here."

Finally, Erik's silhouette got out of the shadows. Céleste saw that he was closing the mirror, which was actually a door, behind him. So that's how he got access to this room.

"What did you tell her?" the Phantom asked as Mme Giry and the Daroga came in.

"Everything, or almost." the Persian said coldly. Immediately, he added: "Erik, this is no time for that. Soliman is here."

If his face stayed expressionless, Céleste could see that the Phantom's gloved hands were trembling. "What?"

"Yes. And he has set his eyes on Mademoiselle de Chagny, here," the Daroga added.

"What? Wait till I…" Erik, in anger, was heading towards the door, until he realized what he had just said. He turned slowly towards Mme Giry and Nadir, who were giving him quite a wry look, and then, to Céleste, though he didn't even dare to look at her in the eye.

"May I know the meaning of this, Monsieur?" snapped Céleste. "Anyway, this isn't necessary. I think you understand very well I can't have any business here anymore. Especially with your little show-off. Now, all Paris will know that I was there on scene. And that includes my brothers. But that's what you wanted, hmm?"

"STOP IT!" Erik yelled. "THAT'S WHAT I WANTED BEFORE! Now… now…"

"Now what?" Céleste's voice had become softer, while a sparkle of hope which she didn't realize the presence was in her eyes.

"Now leave." It was the Phantom's only answer.

Céleste lowered her head. Yes, that was the best thing to do, anyway. But just before… She took the violin case and handed it to Erik. "I think this belongs to you, Monsieur." she said with a sad voice.

For a moment, Erik took the violin case from Céleste's hands, and looking at it for a time, he handed it back to her. "No. Keep it, please."

Céleste smiled. "Thank you, monsieur. And thank you for your tutoring."

Erik simply nodded. Well, at least she thanked him before leaving. Christine had never done that.

And for the first time, comparing Céleste to Christine didn't anger him at all.

Without looking back, Mlle de Chagny got out, followed by Mme Giry, who had taken her clothes, while the Daroga remained in the room with Erik.

"You know what to do, don't you?"

Céleste nodded. She only had the energy to do that.

Ten minutes after, as Mlle de Chagny was all ready to go, the Daroga arrived in the room where she was with Mme Giry.

"Erik will send a note tomorrow to command the managers to set the blame of Sleeping Beauty being messed up on some stagehand who disserves to be fired anyway, and to tell everyone he just wanted to do a prank. It's cruel, but we have no choice if we want to spare our own lives. It will be what will appear in the newspapers. But for you, mademoiselle…"

"It's alright. I'm done here, anyway." said Céleste, her mouth tight.

* * *

**Okay, I know you all hate me now… But this story ain't finished! XD So if you're mad at me, if you think I'm totally sadistic… well, yell it in a review. XD **


	11. Chapter 10

**Hey guys! So in my extreme magnanimity (ok, ok, I'm stopping now), here's a new chapter. Don't be too sad… I know the last chapter was ending up very badly but, hey, as I said, this ain't over yet! XD**

**Answers to reviews: **

**TheCrimsonPen: **Happy, now? XD

**Erik's guest: **It was a very nice surprise, don't worry. XD But for the lessons, I'm afraid Erik will be pretty busy with Soliman… But Céleste and Erik aren't at all done with each other, much to their dismay… or not. XD

**PhantomFan01: **Glad you like Soliman and especially Céleste! Writing Erik/OC phanfics can be sort of risky… Often, people who write those kinds of phanfics give weird names to their OCs, don't give much depth to them and/or just make up a cheap copy of Christine only prettier and a better singer, which is disappointing. So to make sure not to fall in those stereotypes, I wanted to make Céleste Christine's complete opposite. Anyway, I always thought Erik needed someone a little bit more (okay, a lot more) badass than Christine. XD

**Igenlode Wordsmith: **About Céleste's ingenuity, I must say that she shows a lot more cleverness than Christine. Seriously, in the movie, I made a few face-palms at certain times saying to myself: "C'mon, Chris, is it really that hard?" And technically, the Phantom doesn't know Céleste changed address and that she isn't living with her brothers anymore. So she's safe. ;)

About the Phantom's mockery… Well, I wanted to have a bit of a "sassy Erik" in this story. Arrogant, proud, (but not too much, he does have a certain vulnerability), not just howling in a Ben Lewis-style after Christine like in too much phanfics…

And Céleste's promotion… I know it's kind of big. It's part of the Phantom's "plan". Remember he heard Céleste sing at the beginning. Only, he's starting to weaken, so he knows he has to act fast.

I've always assumed Christine was having her lessons in the chapel (in the movie, just after _Think of Me, _she's in the chapel when the Phantom congratulates her about her performance). And since she was apparently never bothered there, well I came to the conclusion it's soundproof. XD

For Céleste calling herself a Victorian lady… My story is happening in 1871. So I know there was the Commune in Paris at that time, and I thought of fitting it in, but it became a bit complicated. I realized after that Andrew Lloyd Webber actually didn't respect the historical reality either, since at the time POTO was going on, France was at war with Prussia, the French were losing and Prussians had invaded Paris. So I'm saying all that to declare that it wasn't "La Belle Époque" yet, since it was in late 1880 and the whole 1890 decade it happened. But the influence of Queen Victoria, the puritanical manners had spread across Europe and even North America, France included. It was a very codified society, and you can see it very well in _Gone With the Wind. _(By the way, I integrated a few elements of it in this phanfic. Where? I'll let you find them. XD) So it doesn't only apply to subjects of the Queen, but to the stereotype of the perfect lady back then. It's a term that we would use today to describe Céleste, for instance, but she wouldn't use it herself.

(Pour la traduction, je serai très heureuse de vous aider, sans problème! Je vous ai envoyé d'ailleurs un petit PM à ce sujet… ;) )

Talking about that, I'm thinking of eventually translating _Let It Go _in French…. It will be better written, I think… XD

What was the Phantom doing while Céleste was sitting in his lair? Well, you'll see in this chapter… ;)

I giggled a bit when you said silk was more practical than velvet. Just like that, in the movie, I thought it was velvet. But it made me think of the debate about the Phantom's mask. Some say it's made of leather, others say it's made of porcelain, some even say it's plastic (*face-palm*)… I would say leather since it is more practical (and porcelain is pretty fragile). But I think it's the biggest debate about POTO after "Who does Christine love?" XD

About the mistake I did about "pans". I. AM. SO. ASHAMED. OF. MYSELF. Often, a few French words slip out accidently here and there, and this one stayed there after I reread myself. Gosh.

Well, I do recommend to you Susan Kay's _Phantom_. It retraces Erik's entire life and is very interesting. I did modify a few elements so he can be younger in this fanfic. The events went along quicker than in Kay's book. Only, my only reticence in it is when Christine comes in… Personally, I would have stopped the story at the moment Leroux's story starts, because mostly, it's E/C fangirling, and it isn't faithful to Leroux's novel. And since Kay is writing a Leroux-based phanfic (though it does have a few ALW elements here and there), it sort of annoyed me. What I changed also was when Erik ran away from the gypsies. In the book, he manages all alone after, but in my fanfic, he is helped by Mme Giry (like in the 2004 movie). The part of his childhood at the Opera Populaire comes also from me.

"He has lived hell but has the pride of an emperor" comes from me. ;)

To explain La Parilla's poetic punishment… It comes almost directly from the Bible and a bit from the legend of Tristan and Isolde. For Céleste, La Parilla's vice is lust, which is (with greediness) a vice of the flesh, and since she's physically provocative, well, the sort of "leprosy" she has looks like a divine punishment. For Jews in Ancient times (I don't know if it's still the case today), leprosy was a divine punishment, mostly because of lust. And Isolde, when she is caught with Tristan the first time by King Marc, is condemned to spend the rest of her life with lepers and become one herself.

About what you said about Erik who has to break the legend about him being a ghost, well, I think Paris knows he's a man of flesh and blood since Christine unmasked him on scene (to me)… except Herr Schmidt the medium who can feel negative waves and knows there is something. XD (Don't worry, you'll see him soon.)

About him dishonouring Céleste and slipping into his bedchamber… I know the situation I imagined would never happen, but I giggled a bit imagining the scene… Erik slipping in the room, then suddenly, screams who can be heard across Céleste's door… And the next day, the maid comes in, to see Erik all tied up and Céleste with a frying pan (Rapunzel style) standing proudly in front of him. Of course, it's a BIG caricature. But it was fun imagining that. XD

For Céleste being spirited enough, I meant "quick-witted". The Daroga, who considers the hypothesis that her family could team up with Soliman to get rid of Erik for good, wants to get him at least one ally. ;) So that's why he tells her everything.

**NaaraHatake: **OMG thank you so much! I'm so so so happy to hear that. Making people live emotions is the purpose of every author, I think, and knowing I made you feel every emotion is really touching me.

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything coming from ALW or Kay, or Disney's Frozen. Anything coming from Leroux belongs to the public domain. **

* * *

**Chapter 10**

As she got off the carriage, headed towards her room, dismissing Annette from helping her to get changed and ready to go to bed, Céleste felt incredibly numb. It was only when she was finally in her night gown and all tucked up in her bed that she seemed to realize what had just happened and what was going to happen in the next few days that she burst into tears, incapable of any sort of self-control.

Why was she crying? She couldn't understand why. Was she afraid of her brothers' reaction? Well, that was quite cowardly of her. A good Christian had to accept all responsibilities coming with his or her acts, even if that meant being thrown to the big cats like in the Roman times. Except that for Céleste de Chagny, the big cats had names: Raoul and Philippe. So, it was hard, but she would have to assume. Oh well. At least with the story Erik had made up, she wouldn't get into too much trouble. Anyway, what did she really done wrong? The domains of art and music were getting more and more accessible to everyone, and it didn't have the dishonor it had in the past. Maybe it still remained for some puritanical people, but anyway… It wasn't the time where even the great geniuses like Molière himself were comedians were excommunicated anymore. Well, it would probably not be very helpful for her wedding, but Céleste couldn't care less. Anyway, Philippe should get married too, instead of hanging out with La Sorelli.

La Sorelli? Hmm… It wouldn't be a bad thing if she told Philippe she knew everything, when he would ground her about this whole affair. The shadow of a smile appeared on Céleste's lips, when she suddenly remembered she still didn't know why she was grieving so much.

Was she crying because of Erik? No, certainly not. Well, maybe because she had lost the tuition now. But Céleste knew it was more than that. She suddenly regretted to have learned his story. It didn't help at all.

But, incapable of falling asleep, she muttered a prayer for the man enclosed in his Opera house and his disfigurement.

When finally, early in the morning, she fell into a troubled sleep where nightmares of what happened the last night were all mixed up, La Parilla and her brown warts, visions of Erik's past, Soliman, she was awoken by a gentle knock on the door and, in a still sleepy voice, she invited the person to come in. It was the maid, Annette.

"Mademoiselle, Monsieur le Comte is here and wishes to see you."

Great. She didn't expect Philippe that soon.

"What time is it, Annette?"

"It's… noon, Mademoiselle. But we didn't dare to wake you up before that, since you have arrived late yesterday."

_Well, it's a reasonable delay, _Céleste thought. _Let's just hope Firmin and André had time to inform the news that it was a stagehand and not really the Opera Ghost. _

"Is Raoul with him?"

"No, Mademoiselle."

_Thank God. I won't have to endure his distressed and angry puppy face. _

"Bring me my dressing gown, please, Annette. I'll have a quick wash just before. Tell my brother I'm coming to see him."

Quickly, Céleste washed her face, made sure her braid wasn't too messy and put on her dressing gown. It was only her brother, after all, and it wouldn't matter if he saw her in her night apparel. Before getting out of her room, she took a deep breath, hoping the storm wouldn't be too strong.

Philippe was sitting in her living room, with his bad-days face.

"Céleste," he said as soon as his sister entered. "Please sit down."

"Philippe, let me explain." Céleste said so calmly she was surprised of herself. "The newspapers have probably used the story to make up some fairy tale…"

"Well, yes, I've heard of it. Everyone in town is saying the Phantom of the Opera is back, but the managers of the Opera Populaire are saying it's some drunken stagehand. Is it true?" Philippe asked with a suspicious face.

"Of course," Céleste lied, so casually she promised herself to have a good confession later.

"Then, how come you have something to do with the Opera Populaire?" Philippe's voice had got up a few decibels. But he wasn't angry. Not yet.

"I was just a patroness. Oh, Philippe, stop looking at me like that. You know I wanted to patron the Populaire just like Raoul when I would be out of the convent, and I had absolutely nothing to do. I made sure the madman was gone before engaging myself into anything. I didn't want you or Raoul to know it, because I knew that our dear brother would have become paranoid about all this."

"Well, thanks to heaven, Raoul and Christine left yesterday for Perros-Guiterec for two weeks and will stay unaware of this," said Philippe grumpily.

_Yes, thanks to heaven. _

The rest of the story was a little more delicate. Céleste decided to lie about the rest. Yes, it hurt to do that to her brother, especially that she knew that he trusted her and would believe what she would say. At least, she hoped so. After all, she had broken his trust by hiding that she was involved with the Opera Populaire. But he didn't have to know that Erik was still there, so his life would be put in danger. Philippe, and especially Raoul, would be perfectly able to capture him for good. For now, she had seemed to have completely forgotten that the Phantom of the Opera was her family's worst enemy.

"At the last minute, La Lefebvre was sickened and unable to sing Maleficent. I knew the part very well, since I had attended her practices, since I'm one of her admirers. I just wanted to help. With Maleficent's makeup, no one would have recognized me. Monsieur Reyer helped me a bit and I managed quite well… Until that stagehand came to ruin everything."

The worst was said. _Sorry, Philippe. But I had to. _

"You are free not to believe me, Philippe, after what happened. But that's the truth."

_Sorry, sorry. _

"Oh, but I believe you, Céleste," said Philippe, already calmer. But his voice rose again. "But do you realize you put our family's reputation at risk? What will the people say when they'll learn that Céleste de Chagny has performed on scene?"

"Oh, Philippe, really, I think our family will get out of this very well." Céleste almost shouted, exasperated. "After all, the Vicomtesse de Chagny is a former prima donna and you… you… You aren't even able to settle yourself; you're just good enough to take an idiotic prima ballerina as a mistress!"

Philippe's eyes widened of disbelief. "How… how do you know that?"

Céleste shrugged. "It doesn't matter." She was looking intently in Philippe's eyes. He lifted down his head and sighed. "So, I suppose we can stop talking about all this?" continued Céleste.

"All right, you win."

"Anyway, with what happened, I have taken back my patronage. Is that enough to content you?"

"Yes, yes, yes, just don't mention this affair again, Céleste, please!"

"You could have at least taken a smarter woman," muttered the young lady. Really, her brothers had absolutely no taste.

When Philippe finally left, Céleste raced back to her room, curling up in her bed. She felt like being ill, today.

As she remembered what had just happened with her brother, she couldn't believe what she had just done. She lied, she betrayed Philippe's trust, for the first time since their parents' death, and all that to save a man who had swore to cause her family's ruin?

But somehow, Céleste felt she had done the right thing. Now that she knew too much about Erik, she was sort of forever linked to him. The only two that knew what she knew were Mme Giry and the Daroga. And they were Erik's allies. She had, unwillingly, become his ally. And somehow, it broke her heart to betray him.

Did she pity him? Maybe. But as the Daroga said, Erik Destler had the pride of an emperor, and certainly wouldn't appreciate much that Céleste de Chagny pitied him. The young lady realized he was too much to be a poor miserable creature. He had strength in him, a dark strength that somehow fascinated her, since she felt that within her, she had it, but her good lady varnish was always retaining it. He had lived hell, a hell where so many people would have found their death. But he had survived.

What would have been his life, without the disfigurement which seemed to have always been his curse? When she saw the "good" side of his face, Céleste could see quite easily that he could have been a handsome man. He was more than gifted, he was a genius. He would have been worldly famous… but once again, his face had prevented him from doing all this.

Céleste had always been a faithful catholic. In these kinds of situations, it was true that it was hard to believe in God's infinite mercy. But always, she knew there was a way or another for even the lowest sinner to have his redemption. How Erik would find his own redemption, Céleste had absolutely no idea who would help him in such a situation and how it would possibly happen. But one thing was for sure: it wasn't in a prison that he would find it.

* * *

It looked like his plan for the Vicomte had just blown up.

But there was no time to waste in useless regrets of revenge. It would just show up to him another day. Soliman was now at the center of his worries.

Well, at least, with the Mlle de Chagny who had interrupted all relations with him, things were going to be less complicated. By getting close to the young woman, he could eventually team up with the Chagny brothers to track him down. And though Erik knew how to defend himself, Soliman was the kind of enemy you had to be ready for any situation.

Everything would be fine, now that arrangements would be taken. In a corner of the lair, behind a few windbreaks for more intimacy, Nadir had established his quarters. For the time Soliman was in Paris, it would be better for him to hide. Erik didn't like too much the idea of having Nadir peeking around his things, though he was discretion in person, but anyway, it was in a case of drastic measures, and for now, he was forced to accept it. Erik listened to his friend breathe loudly as he slept with a smile. Well, that was pretty much the only time when the Daroga showed his presence in such a loud way.

Well, almost everything was fine for now.

What Nadir had said to him last night: "He has set his eyes on Mademoiselle de Chagny" tortured his mind more than he wanted to permit himself. Soliman was nothing more than a beast. While he was condemned to be one, the Shah's brother had willingly chosen to be one. And imagining her in his clutches…

Why, why was he worrying so much about her?

Erik looked, numb, at all the drawings he did of Christine, drawings he started to produce from the very first time he saw her. At the beginning, the results were… deceiving. The first one looked pretty much like a stick figure of Louis XIV with a dress. But, with time, he had improved his techniques, and his drawings soon became strikingly resembling.

When she was gone, well… He thought he would never draw anything else again.

The day where he had taken Céleste to his lair, in order to keep her as a prisoner until she was willing to obey his commands, his gaze had been caught by the sight of his drawing material. And, while his prisoner was sitting on a chair, probably making up her plans for _Sleeping Beauty _at that moment, he had found nothing better to do than to draw her…

Why did he do that? Even now, he didn't know why. He had caught, from time to time, an interrogative look on her face, while his pen was flying over the paper, and he was wondering why it wasn't him who had that look. He had only drawn her face for now. And, as he was studying it, the resemblance he had found at the beginning with her brother had sort of totally disappeared.

She was beautiful. It would have been a lie to deny it.

She was even beautiful when she was furious. He remembered to have seen Christine mad once. It was a very rare thing, since she rather cried when she was somehow disturbed. And she was very sensible, so it happened often… He didn't even remembered why she was angry. He did remember very well her face getting red, her mouth pouting so exaggeratedly he had somehow frowned. He didn't like to see her like that. It didn't fit her well.

When Céleste was furious, it was like a snow storm in Russia. Strong, devastating, but beautiful at the same time. She was the kind of women who would play Camille in Corneille's _Horace _or Hermione in Racine's _Andromaque. _Furious, passionate, but still beautiful.

For now, he had only drawn her face. But for the clothing, he had no idea how he was going to dress her up. He wasn't going to draw those horrible nun-like dresses she was wearing all the time. Besides that, he had only seen her in Maleficent's robe. And he wasn't going to draw her like that.

He sighed, and, while his eyes were gazing across his desk's chaos, they were suddenly stopped by the sight of a book he had almost forgotten the existence. It was a collection of traditional Scandinavian tales.

He remembered when he had got that book. It was when he was pretending to be the Angel of music M. Daaé had promised to send his daughter. He wanted to read the story of Little Lotte and of the Angel of Music to be sure of his shot. But he had never paid attention to the other tales.

He quickly skimmed through the pages, so absent-minded he didn't even laughed at himself for reading fairy tales for children. Finally, a colored illustration stopped his gaze suddenly. He blinked, hardly believing what he was seeing.

It was Céleste.

Erik closed his eyes and shook his head quickly, trying to regain his senses. Calmed down, he looked at the story the illustration was accompanying. It was the _Snow Queen. _

Again, he observed the picture. It was, of course, the title character who was portrayed. She did have a striking resemblance with Céleste. The same blonde almost white hair, the same delicate and malicious traits, and, through the image, he could feel the Snow Queen's power and at the same time, her coldness. It was just like he felt Céleste's inner darkness, though it was always contained by the principles and the weight of society.

Attentively, he read the story.

The Snow Queen's name was Elsa. She was the princess and heiress of a northern kingdom, and lived with her little sister, Anna. From a very young age, she had showed very strong powers where she could control snow and ice. But one day, accidently, Elsa had hit Anna near her heart, almost causing her to die. If the little girl was saved, the eldest, in order to protect her little sister, was separated from her sister, secluded and forced to control her feelings, since they seemed to be the source of her powers.

But, one day, of course, Elsa became queen and had to get out of her imprisonment. As the coronation party took place, Anna quickly fell in love with a prince and, in the same evening, he asked her in marriage. It was a very imprudent move, which Elsa of course was aware of. She refused to give her blessing, starting an argument between the two sisters, which lead to Elsa exposing her powers in front of everyone.

Having an angry mob after her, convinced that she was a sorceress, Elsa ran away to a far away mountain, leaving a snow storm rage as she fled. And it was only there that, all alone, far away from everything she had known, she could control her powers.

_She's there, twirling, dancing in the storm raging around her. Graceful, looking so ethereal. But it's a lure. She is the storm. And throughout the wind's howl, the sound of a violin rings clearly, getting stronger and stronger. _

It was coming back. The music was coming back.

This couldn't be.

Since Christine had abandoned him, Erik was certain that he would never be able to compose again. But the sound of a violin playing notes as quick and swift as snowflakes dancing in winter came to him. It was a concerto, except there was no orchestra where the soloist had to play and dominate it. Only the wind.

But it seemed like the music was coming back. And thanks to the sister of the man who took away his muse from him. What sarcasm.

Erik closed the book brutally and banged his head on his desk. Everything was getting so complicated. He remembered how often he compared Céleste to Christine. He remembered his dreams where Christine's traits were more and more blurry and replaced by Céleste's.

In a start of anger, Erik seized a bottle of ink and threw it towards a corner of the stone walls, shouting of rage in a sort of way to calm himself, hoping it would wake him up from this nightmare. It had to be a nightmare. _It has to be. _

An awoken and perplexed Daroga popped his head out of one of the windbreaks, wondering if it was better to go and see Erik or just leave him alone. Well, it was always better to mind your own business with him, but still… Maybe he would be in need of help one day. When? The Persian had no idea. It would take everything for Erik to admit that he did need some sort of assistance in life.

Suddenly, Erik got up of his desk, heading towards his organ. He opened a bottle of ink, seized a sheet of paper, and started writing. For time to time, he was trying out of a few notes on the organ's keyboard. Nadir smiled.

The music of the night was back.

* * *

Her days seemed now so unoccupied, and life seemed extremely dull. Céleste had to find ways to distract herself before falling in some sort of depression. She had decided to pay Philippe more regular visits, so she could talk to him more privately about everything and nothing, especially when Raoul and Christine were still at Perros-Guiterec. It was, also, a way to make up for the lie she had been obliged to set up, she had decided to spend more time with him.

It was about a week after the _Sleeping Beauty _catastrophe that Céleste arrived one day at her brothers' residence to be greeted as soon as she came in by a Philippe with a smile almost going from ear to ear.

"Céleste! You came just at the good moment! I just have a guest with me whom I really wish to present to you."

While he was talking, he was leading Céleste towards the living-room. The young woman was preparing a lovely smile when the sight of Philippe's guest made her congeal in a second.

It was Soliman.

In a flash, Céleste remembered everything the Daroga had said about him. While Philippe did the presentations: "My sister, Céleste. And Céleste, this is Soliman." and that Soliman was gallantly kissing her hand, muttering in a low voice: "Mademoiselle", it took everything for Céleste to retain herself from running away from the living-room. She hoped he would have enough tact not to talk about their first meeting at the Opera Populaire… But with that kind of man, you probably had to be prepared for everything.

"We have met two weeks ago," continued Philippe with a smile. "And I must say Soliman has more than fascinated me with his Oriental stories."

"Oh, but Paris is just as fascinating," added Soliman.

"How long do you expect to stay here, Monsieur? I suppose you are doing a tour of Europe like so many men." Asked Céleste with a smile, almost surprised of her own diplomacy, especially at this moment…

"I don't know how long I'm staying in Paris, mademoiselle," he answered. "But with all the beauties who are here, it might be a little longer," Soliman added, looking at Céleste. Mlle de Chagny lowered her head and bowed at the compliment, just like good manners demanded it. But another thing which was necessary in those situations was to blush modestly, or else, you were considered by society to be licentious. And Céleste, who already had a very pale complexion, was almost deadly white. Philippe noticed it and looked discreetly at his sister, worried, then at Soliman. His friend's face was undecipherable, but a very light smile appeared on his lips.

* * *

**Here it is once again! Okay, I know some of you are disappointed since there aren't any Céleste/Erik scenes, but don't worry… Anyway, who doesn't like a little bit of suspense! XD **

**Don't forget to let a little review, they always make my day! **


	12. Chapter 11

**New chapter! **

**If you want news from the author, I'm actually working on future fanfics! I don't know if I will finish them all or if I'll come upon a block… I hope not. More info on my profile. ;) **

**Answers to reviews: **

**PhantomFan01: **Dun dun dun indeed. XD My inspiration for Céleste comes a lot from Elsa in _Frozen._ There are little elements from Eowyn in Lord of the Rings (Basically this quote: "What do you fear, my lady?" "A cage. Staying enclosed in it until wear and old age accept it." (By memory, I think it goes like that. XD)), and a little tinsy winsy bit of Scarlett O'Hara. I'll let you find how. ;)

*sings* AND IT'S BACK, NOW, THE MUSIC OF THE NIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIGHT! XD

**inujisan: **I'm basing myself on the Disney version. ;) I know the original (by Hans Christian Andersen) isn't at all the same thing… So let's just say Frozen is the original and that Andersen made his own version of it. XD

**Lydia the tygeropean: **Soliman? He's a total sociopath. XD Based on Joffrey Baratheon, the kid every GoT fan likes to hate. XD

**TheCrimsonPen: **About the future of Céleste and Soliman… Well… You'll see. (Mwahahaha!) I'll try to Punjab Philippe so he won't do it, though. XD

**Erik's Guest: **Glad to hear you're not just here for the fluff! XD Paris' underground does give me an idea for a future phanfic in an AU… Look at my profile, there will be a little resume. ;) And I think Erik is already sort of "in love" with Céleste… But he isn't totally realizing it yet. ;)

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything coming from Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom of the Opera nor Susan Kay's Phantom. Anything coming from Leroux belongs to the public domain. **

* * *

**Chapter 11**

Most unfortunately for Céleste (and that was to talk in a delicate way), it wouldn't be the last time she would meet Soliman. When Christine and Raoul came back from Perros-Guiterec, happy of their little trip in Britanny and hoping that their pilgrimage to Sainte Anne's sanctuary in Auray would be beneficial for their soon-to-grow family, it took very little time before Philippe introduced them to Soliman, who had even declared, much to Céleste's dismay, that he was settling in Paris for good. Raoul was very quickly charmed by the Shah's brother's charisma. He always had a good story to tell, and, though his appearance was very foreign, he had the true manners of an Occidental gentleman.

Christine, on the other hand, seemed rather intimidated by Soliman. She had never been much of a chatterbox, but now, she remained totally silent when he was around. Did she know something about Soliman's past with Erik? Céleste couldn't tell, and she would probably never know, since Christine wasn't at all one of her confidants. There were times where Soliman would talk to the Vicomtesse, inserting in it a few of his stupid Oriental-style compliments. Christine would then blush, lift down her eyes somehow nervously, like a gazelle knowing a lion is after her.

But there were also times where Céleste wished to be at Christine's place. Soliman was truly almost only paying attention to her when he visited and that she was present at the same time at her brothers' home. But the worse was that Philippe seemed even pleased of those attentions. Céleste remembered what her brother had told her just before she had moved into her own establishment: that she would be settled soon.

Did he plan to unite her with Soliman?

A stranger?

This couldn't be possible.

But the more the time went, the more this situation became possible for Céleste, since Soliman's visits were becoming more and more frequent.

Meanwhile, Christmas was coming. Mlle de Chagny hadn't forgotten at all the Stradivarius the Phantom had given her: every day, she practiced her violin, like if she still had her lessons. She had got herself a few music sheets, which were mainly traditional Christmas songs. Of course, they weren't as elaborate as what she had practiced before with Erik, but it was quite relaxing to play them. And often, she opened the door of her room, letting the servants hear her music, which filled their mornings with pleasure.

As the holidays were approaching, Céleste was thinking even more of Erik. Did he have any company on Christmas Eve? She wondered if Mme Giry at least organized a little something so he wouldn't be too alone. For a moment, Céleste wanted to do "a little something", but would Erik be pleased of it? She couldn't say. Maybe it was better to just leave him alone, and follow what the Daroga had instructed her to do, even if it was sometimes hard.

She knew that, like each year, the Opera Populaire was organizing its New Year Masquerade Ball. Certainly, Firmin and André were crossing their fingers so the Phantom wouldn't make an unexpected apparition. She also knew that La Parilla was still in her functions; Céleste didn't dare to imagine how Firmin and André convinced her to stay… Or maybe was it Herr Schmidt's wallet that helped.

Many times, Céleste wished to get herself a pass for the Masquerade Ball, prepare herself a costume and go there, anonymous, hoping that, hidden in the other masks, he would be there. Why did she want to see him? She had no idea. She just had to.

"Mademoiselle? A package arrived for you."

Céleste lifted up her eyes to see Annette with a big parcel in her arms. Intrigued, she thanked the maid with a smile, seized a pair of scissors from her work-bag which wasn't too far away and cut the wrapping paper, revealing a box that she opened quickly, in a bit of a childish eagerness.

The first thing which caught her sight was a rose. It looked just like the one she had received just before the representation of _Sleeping Beauty_. A rose of a bloody red color, with a black ribbon tied around it. It was laid on an envelope that Céleste took and opened, without peering at what was under it. Inside, to her great surprise, there was a pass for the Masquerade Ball at the Opera Populaire, and the ball notebook where usually, ladies could note which of their beaux reserved this or that dance. A note, written in a very familiar spidery handwriting, was accompanying the pass and the notebook.

_Wear the dress you have received to the New Year Masquerade Ball. I'll be there. _

_O.G. _

Immediately, Céleste look again in the box, to see a shiny fabric, in a shade of icy blue. Slowly, she grabbed it, to reveal a dress, as the note said… But the sleeves, and the long cape embroidered with snowflakes and sewed on the dress' back were made of an almost transparent fabric and gave it an ethereal appearance. Céleste smiled. It reminded her of her childhood, when Gustave Daaé was telling them the story of the Snow Queen. She used to imagine her wearing exactly the dress she was holding.

A blue mask, in the same shade as the costume, and with a few strips of silver, was accompanying it. Immediately, like a little girl who had just received clothing for Christmas and just had to try it up right away, Céleste rushed to her room to try it all. She threw away her dark green dress as soon as she took it off (and never had it seemed so dull), and she almost had trouble putting the Snow Queen costume on since she was trembling of excitement. And finally, she set the mask on her face, completing her disguise.

Céleste headed towards her mirror, looking at the final result. But immediately, the first thing she noticed was that something was not right. And her head was the problem.

To be more precise, it was her hair. All tied up as a bun, as it was arranged usually, it seemed somehow awkward and disgraceful with her costume. Hesitantly, she removed a pin, and then another, and another, until there was only her braid floating freely on her shoulder. The effect was perfect, now.

Well, with a braid as only hairstyle, it was quite indecent. You usually wore that for bedtime… But a bun… it was just not right either way. Besides, who would recognize her? She was still a maiden, anyway, and she could permit herself to let her hair down her back.

Why was she always making a bun, anyway?

Céleste admired the whole effect. It was perfect. She was almost surprised of her own appearance. The Snow Queen she had imagined when she was a little girl had materialized just in front of her… How did Erik know?

Thinking of him brought brutally back to reality. Why did the Phantom want her at the Masquerade Ball, especially with the actual situation with Soliman?

Was it a trap?

Really, he had more important things to think of.

After hours of meditating about all this in her room, her door shut, which was a signal for the servants that she wished to be left alone, Céleste had still no idea of what was the Phantom planning.

_Why not just go to the Masquerade Ball? _

Really, why couldn't she?

Yes, it was quite imprudent of her to accept. But her curiosity, which we could qualify of being quite feminine without being ourselves too much misogynous, won.

* * *

Christmas Eve came, and of course, Céleste spent it with her brothers and Christine. They all went to the midnight mass, where Philippe listened to the music more than he prayed, Raoul prayed for Christine and their future child, Céleste prayed for her family, prayed so Soliman would change his plans and leave Paris, and also, prayed for the man hiding in the undergrounds of the Opera Populaire.

And what about Christine? She was praying for Raoul, her one love, she was praying for her child who would plunge into the world when nature would wake up again… But for a moment, her thoughts went to the man who, once, had been her Angel of Music. Where was he, now? She had moments of melancholy where she thought of him. She still felt it had been cruel of leaving him, alone, but she knew that life with him would have been unbearable, because of his love which would have always stayed unrequited. Sometimes, at night, when she woke up and looked at Raoul snoring, a fond smile would appear on her face. She knew that she had made the best choice possible. All was left for her to do was to hope that God, for once, would be merciful with the Phantom of the Opera.

Knowing that she wasn't the only one to care for Erik would have certainly given comfort to her, on this night where, nearly two thousand years ago, an infant had, by his only birth, brought hope to God's people. But Christine would have never guessed by herself who it was!

But as soon as Christmas Eve was over, Céleste realized how quickly the days passed. The Masquerade Ball was set for the evening of December 30th. And when the day came, from the very moment she got up, until Annette was helping her to get ready, (and yes, arranging her hair in a braid and not a bun) the day passed in a sort of puerile excitement because of the awareness that she had no idea of what was going to happen that night. But, as the maid said, cheerily: "All done! And I must say you truly look beautiful, mademoiselle!" A very cool shower fell on Céleste's mind.

Why was she doing this?

It was so stupid.

But she had to know. She had to.

_Little prying Pandora. _

She felt more and more tensed as she got in the carriage, all tucked up in her fur coat to keep herself warm, since the night was very cold, almost crushing her pass and her ball notebook on her chest. As she arrived in front of the Opera Populaire, all illuminated for the occasion, she got rid of her coat, since anyway, she didn't have much of a distance to cover. She slipped her ball notebook in her sleeve, showing it a bit on the top of her wrist, and seized her pass, which she gave at a valet dressed up in an eighteenth-century style. And, as she entered the great hall, she looked above, and was strangely reassured, as she looked around her and recognized no one. Conclusion, if she didn't recognize anyone, no one (except one person) would know she was there. There was no turning back, now, and muttering about her foolish behavior would arrange nothing.

She looked around her, trying to find Erik among all the masks which were surrounding her. Suddenly, a voice she knew well made its sound behind her:

"I believe you have dropped this, mademoiselle."

Céleste turned swiftly towards the inquirer. It was Erik. His very annoying mocking smile was so easy to recognize. His half-mask was replaced by a… normal mask. He was dressed up all in black, as usual, except that his jacket and tie did show more elegance than usual. Well, black did fit him well. She lifted down her eyes to what he was holding out to her. It was her ball notebook.

"But… that's impossible… It was right there in my sleeve and…"

Céleste quickly reached towards her wrist, to see it indeed was gone. _There goes my feeling of security. _

Her eyes still wide, she muttered a quick word of gratitude and opened it… to see that a certain O.G., in a spidery handwriting, had for every dance. Céleste lifted up her eyes, ironic and exasperated at the same time.

"Seriously?"

Erik shrugged, while Mlle de Chagny smiled, knowing exactly how to pay him back in the way of his own coin.

"Well, I at least hope you know how to dance."

"Of course," Erik replied, looking offended, though a twinkle could be seen in his eyes.

"And don't you remember that for your own safety, I'm not supposed to be here, anymore?" Céleste continued immediately. She wanted to have the truth about all this.

"No one will recognize you, and anyway, I can't even tell myself where those two fools who call themselves managers are." After a brief pause, he continued. "You see?" Erik pointed up the hall's stairs, showing Céleste Herr Schmidt, without a mask, sticking his ear on the wall, concentrated, with a stick in his hand, with which he was knocking softly on the wall.

"He thinks that with that stick, he'll be able to find me," the Phantom muttered. "I heard him say that to the managers. Good thing he has that wallet of his. I think Firmin and André would have called for the asylum long ago."

A light smile appeared on Céleste's lips. It was the best she could do from retaining herself from laughing. She headed towards Herr Schmidt, followed closely by Erik.

"May I know what are you doing, monsieur?" Céleste slightly changed her voice, so Herr Schmidt would have more trouble recognizing her.

"Ach, I'm looking for the Opera Ghost!" He answered eagerly. "You see this stick? It's just like a dowsing rod! It can feel the aura given off by ghosts. But it isn't shaking here… I guess he's somewhere else."

Without further ado, Herr Schmidt headed towards the stairs, so thrilled he collided with Erik, accidently.

"Oh, excuse me," he shouted, before rushing down the stairs, as fast as his belly could permit him from doing so. He couldn't see behind him Céleste trying very hard not to laugh, and Erik lifting up an eye brow with a sarcastic smile.

"I think that stick of his might be… broken." Erik said. Though he didn't laugh, Céleste could feel a certain joyful amusement in his voice, which was strangely comforting to her. She knew that it was the best time to confront him about his projects on her… though it was somehow heartbreaking to stop it all so brutally. But it was necessary.

"You didn't answer my question. Why am I here?"

For a moment, the Phantom's glare fell on her harshly, like if he was struggling for or against something. But Céleste didn't tremble. But soon, he recovered a certain arrogant casualness.

"Well, I was not going to snivel in the undergrounds all alone while there was that ball. I thought of many people to go with… But you seemed the only one available and capable of accepting such a thing."

Céleste retained herself from staring at him disbelievingly. Why did she had that little feeling he had made her come here just to see her again? It was such a risky enterprise. And that was pretty much the only explanation she could find to all of this.

But soon, the sound of violins tuning interrupted their confrontation. Without further ado, Erik presented his hand (gloved, as usual) to Céleste, who seized it almost in a daredevil way, and the rather strange pair (at least, for those who knew who were hiding beneath the masks) headed towards the ball room, where the dancers where taking place.

Well, at the end of the waltz which opened the ball, Céleste had to admit that Erik was rather a good dancer. She thought of all those dim-witted "daddy's little boys" noblemen she had to dance with when she went to other parties, in order to please Philippe and his marital projects which, thankfully, had no outcome until now. It was such a relief not to feel any feet on hers. At the beginning, she did have a bit of a mental gasp when Erik posed his hand on her shoulder, and she could feel he was also a bit nervous when she put her hand on his waist. But soon, this uneasiness disappeared, and the two actually felt quite trouble-free. And those who could observe them dance could sense all the etherealness coming from Céleste. Her steps where so light, that it was like she was floating, and the Snow Queen dress could only but increase the effect.

But, as they waltzed round the room for the last time, a shocking appearance caught Céleste's eye. And, as the violins played the last note, she murmured, keeping her teeth tight:

"Look behind you. But not too quickly. Don't drag the attention on you."

Expressionless, Erik turned towards the direction Céleste was looking, in such a relaxed way it seemed quite natural. And, besides his jaw which tightened, he didn't tremble one bit, when he saw who had caught the young woman's eye.

It was Soliman, standing proudly in the hall's entrance, unmasked, in a victor's pose. His eyes were gazing everywhere. And immediately, Céleste and Erik instinctively knew that in one blink, he could unmask them all.

Always as naturally, Erik invited Céleste to take his arm, which she took without the reticence she would have normally showed. It was a case of desperate measures, after all. Like if nothing had happened, they headed out of the ball room, almost running away from Soliman, hoping that the crowd that was around them would hide them. But they were close enough to hear Firmin shout: "Ah! Finally! Here is our new patron!"

* * *

Almost like a too confident child, Céleste let Erik guide her through the Opera house. They finally arrived in the theater, where he guided her towards the wings and dragged her to stairs at the back. Quickly, they climbed them, to reach a door that Erik opened. And, to Céleste's amazed eyes, the back of the Apollo's lyre sculpture revealed itself to her as she got out, Erik letting her pass and closing the door behind them. They were on the Opera Populaire's roof. Big snowflakes were falling lazily on the roof's floor, forming a seemingly fluffy carpet, and just adding to the night's enchantment.

But soon, Céleste drew herself reluctantly out of her reverie to more practical thoughts.

"Why did you bring me here? Did… did you know that he was becoming a patron?" By _he_, Céleste meant of course Soliman.

"Of course not. If I knew, I wouldn't have taken such a risk to make you come tonight." Erik was still very well self-controlled, but his gaze was wondering everywhere, like if he was looking for something insignificant to give him an idea.

"Why did you make me come here, anyway?"

Erik sighed, slightly exasperated. "I… wanted you to have this."

While he was talking, he took out sheets of paper all rolled and tied with a black ribbon, which he handed to Céleste. Gently, she took them, untied the ribbon and unrolled them, to reveal a handwritten music sheet. It was an aria for a solo violin. Immediately, Céleste knew he had composed it all for her.

"You composed that… for me?" For a moment, she had forgotten all about Soliman and the other worries. Hope had entered her heart… though she couldn't really tell why. But for now, she wasn't asking herself any questions.

"Yes."

"That's so… so kind, well, no, it's… more than that." Céleste stammered. That was the first time since… well, since a very long time; so long she couldn't even remember when it happened for the last time that she was hesitating like that. Usually, she was so self-confident… Then, the sudden thought that she had come here, her hands empty, slapped her instantly. She remembered how she thought of Erik when she was preparing for the holidays, about him being so alone on Christmas Eve… She could have at least brought a little something herself.

"I'm sorry, I wished I had something to give you myself and…"

"You came, while you had every reason not to do so. It's more than enough," Erik interrupted her.

Surprised of such an answer, Céleste lifted up her eyes at the level of Erik's. And, for a moment, they both lost themselves into each other's gaze. But suddenly, a gust brought them back to reality, and to their problems.

"Well, he has probably guessed you were hiding here," started Céleste. "He has probably decided to become a patron so he could investigate without being disturbed. He has talked many times how much he loves the arts, but…"

"How do you know that?" The sternness in Erik's voice almost made Céleste jump. _Me and my big mouth. Now he'll know Soliman is a friend to my brothers. But… is it really a bad thing?_

"Soliman has befriended Philippe, and also Raoul. And I'm often afraid that eventually, they might team up to track you down, and the Daroga at the same time."

Erik nodded his head, absently. "Did… did Soliman tried to approach you in any way?" He asked suddenly. "You or… Christine?" he added, somehow repugnantly.

A flash of anger strucked Céleste. _Now he's worrying about his precious Christine. How wonderful. _Wait… was she jealous? No way.

Really?

"Well, he does make a few compliments to Christine from time to time, but that's all. I must say he has paid a lot more attention to me, and so much I sometimes feel uneasy. And Philippe even seems to encourage him." A certain triumphant inner-satisfaction overcame her. It was ridiculous, but it was still there.

Erik's reaction could only raise it. His self-control shield was starting to crackle, and Céleste could see very clearly that his jaw was even more tightened and that his hands were trembling.

"He didn't… touch you?" he asked.

"No, of course not," Céleste answered quickly, shocked. And suddenly, she wondered why he even bothered about it. Wasn't she the sister of his worst enemy? Wasn't he, a few months ago, ready to use her in such a horrible way for his revenge? Was the next thing he was going to say was to tell her he was going to protect her or something? The conversation seemed to be heading towards such a declaration. She wanted him to get clear about all this. That was what a man of honor usually did. Well, Erik, though he had the manners and the appearance of one, wasn't really what we could call a gentleman. But when you entered Céleste de Chagny's world, you had to at least submit to a few little rules.

"Well, about him touching me, I beg your pardon, but I'm surprised that you seem so attentive to my own safety. After all, you know from where I come, don't you?" She was talking, of course, about her family, and more especially Raoul.

Céleste's question stroke Erik violently. She was right. But everything, in the last weeks, had been so confusing. Yes, he was still thinking of Christine from time to time, but it was becoming all so blurry and it didn't cause him much of the pain it used to be. Still, he cursed Raoul, but what he didn't realize, it was that he was now cursing him because his own resentment which, all his life, had been deep-rooted for all of those who dared to insult him or hurt him in a way or another, even if the insult or hurt was far away, and cured or made up for for a very long time.

From time to time, when he was thinking of Céleste (and it became more and more often), he was totally forgetting about her family. Anyway, she seemed so different of her brothers. Raoul and Philippe (at least, for the little he had seen of the elder) were perfect gentlemen without making any efforts to do so. Perfectly… perfect. They seemed trapped in their little world, and nothing seemed to be able to disturb it. Life had to be dreadfully boring. Well, that was at least to Erik's point of view.

But Céleste seemed to be made of another material. Yes, she had the appearance of the perfect lady, and she played her part quite well. But from the first time he had met her face to face, he knew she was much more than that. There was a side to her that had been vigorously contained not just by herself, but mostly because of her family and the society that was more invading her than surrounding her. And it wasn't only her amazing talent in music. It was her whole person.

"Yes," Erik finally answered. "I know who you are. I probably know you better than your fop of a brother." He came closer to Céleste, in an almost menacing way. But she didn't blink one bit. "I'll never forget the time where you just came up to me and shouted at me, while your life was in danger by doing such a thing. Didn't your brother tell you about the Punjab lasso?" A very light smile, indecipherable, appeared on Erik's lips. "It could have come out anytime, hey? I have one on me right now, as I always do. An ordinary lady would have never put herself in such a situation and would have gone crying to her father, brother, husband or whatever. But no. You didn't do anything like that. It seems like you can manage very well on your own."

It was true. Since she had left the convent, Céleste had been everything but a "good girl". Her pride, and probably more especially her independent spirit had prevented her from doing the most reasonable thing: warning Philippe and Raoul about what was happening. Since her childhood, Céleste had considered with great contempt those princesses in distress in fairytales who always needed a knight in shining armor to get them out of trouble, while the solution was almost skipping to their eyes. Had she been so marked by this impression that it influenced her present behavior?

But she didn't regret anything. Nor the past, nor the present.

And now, in this dreadful situation, it seemed like Erik had now the most unexpected of allies imaginable.

Céleste smiled at the thought of it, and lifted up her head.

"Then I guess that for what is of Soliman, we are allies?"

"Indeed we are," he answered.

"So what must we do?"

Neither of them answered. Really, for now, they had no idea, since the whole situation had caught them on surprise.

"Maybe it's too soon to determine. I'll keep an eye on Soliman when he comes to my brothers' home. Especially that he has told nothing about our encounter at the Opera Populaire. I think he probably has a plan. I'll try to inform you of what seems important to me, as discreetly as I can," Céleste finally said. "Just… don't do anything imprudent."

"Neither do you." Erik said, with the shadow of a smile.

* * *

**So, how was it? Tell me in a little review! They always make my day! ;) **


	13. Chapter 12

**New chapter guys! And… no, nothing, I'll keep my mouth shut and I'll just let you read. XD**

**Answers to reviews: **

**Igenlode Wordsmith:** Leprosy starts with the fact that the leper doesn't feel anything anymore, and then brownish black spots spread everywhere… Then parts of the body come off. ;) I know it because recently, I've been reading a novel on Baudoin IV of Jerusalem… He was a French king reigning on the Holy Land (in Israel) in the Middle Ages (about 1170-1180), when the Crusaders were occupying it, and a descendant of Godefroi de Bouillon. And he was a leper. An amazing figure of the Crusades, who won an amazing victory with five hundred knights against thirty thousand Arabian warriors. He truly disserves to be discovered.

"But he didn't have to know that Erik was still there, so his life would be put in danger" I'm talking about Erik's life. ;)

About the "good lady varnish". I think it's an "only French" expression. It can have the same sense as "shell" or perhaps even "disguise". Translated, it would be "sa façade de bonne demoiselle"

About the Daroga living for a moment in Erik's lair… Well, let's just say I'm basing myself on ALW events and not Leroux events. And during the musical, the Daroga wasn't there. He arrived in Paris after the events. And let's just say he has accepted that Nadir could hide for a moment in his lair since he does owe him big time: after all, the Daroga did save his life when they were in Persia!

And I think Soliman does indeed know a bit too much for Céleste's and Erik's sakes, indeed… Mwahahaha. XD

**TheCrimson Pen:** Yes, allies or more. (*Sighs*) And the fluff is only starting. XD

**Erik's guest:** I did thought of giving them an intimate moment, but I thought it was a bit too soon… Maybe I was wrong. But anyway, I like to make everybody wait. XD

**PhantomFan01:** Actually, I don't think Erik made the dress, but that he ordered it (like I think he did for Christine's wedding dress), because, I dunno, I don't see him sewing or anything… And I must admit that reading your comment made me imagine Erik knitting multicolored socks, and it was pretty funny… XD

**Lydia the tygeropean:** Thanks. ;)

**PhantomLilac:** Haha, I think everyone wanted them to kiss. XD But don't worry, I have the kissing scene already in my head and I think you'll be all there in front of your computer screaming and crying at the same time.

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything coming from Andrew Lloyd Webber nor Susan Kay. Anything coming from Gaston Leroux belongs to the public domain. **

* * *

**Chapter 12**

Even after many days, what happened just after their discussion on the Opera Populaire's roof still seemed so blurry to Céleste. She remembered that the Phantom had brought her back inside, guided her through a secret passageway which was in the theater, and brought her directly to the entrance without passing through the ballroom (and at the same time, without meeting Soliman). Immediately, they both headed towards a valet, who got instructed by Céleste of warning her coachman that she was ready to leave. But, as soon as she was done giving her command to the boy, she realized that Erik, without further ceremony, had left.

Of course, he couldn't permit himself from staying around for very long.

But he could have at least said a word of goodbye.

As she settled herself in her carriage, Céleste looked at bit at the music sheet she had received from Erik. Remembering also that she was supposed to have her ball notebook with her, she tried to find it… Without success.

Her name was written in it. What if someone saw all the "O.G." in it? What if Soliman came to find it?

Well, that was unlikely to happen, anyway. And someone who would find "O.G." in a ball notebook would probably think it was just some bad joke.

Closing her eyes for a moment, Céleste tried to forget all about her evening, at least for a while. But one image was always still presenting itself to her: the sight she had when, for a moment, Erik and herself had lost themselves into each other's gaze. When she had read into his eyes, so brown they were almost black, her mouth had started to slightly open, like if it was ready to have a kiss… So did his. But it didn't happen.

And now, she sort of regretted it.

Why did she?

They had no possible future, anyway. And there was no need to say why.

She giggled to stop thinking about all this. Now, she was thinking in such a "novelette" style.

But even with her self-mockery and her determination to really stop thinking about it, it wouldn't fade away.

As she got out of the carriage, entered her house and headed to her room, she looked again at the music sheet she had received. She had to look at it. Now. Immediately, she got out her violin, placed the sheets on her music stand, and started playing.

As she went through the aria, it soon made her think of a snow storm. She played, her fingers running on the strings, and smiled, wondering how Erik had found the resemblance between herself and the Snow Queen, her favorite fairytale character when she was still a little girl. With passion, she attacked the notes, imagining that each of them was all her worries. No, nothing could stop her now. Not a storm, not a Soliman, not a Philippe, not a Raoul, not a Christine.

* * *

The next morning, Céleste was quite surprised to wake up early, since the last night had been quite occupied. She started her day as usual: getting washed and dressed, taking her usual very-French breakfast composed of hot chocolate and croissants. It was during her meal that Annette came in to tell her:

"Mademoiselle, a young lady wishes to see you. I told her you were taking your breakfast, but she said it was urgent. She said her name is Marguerite Giry… Does it mean anything to you?"

"Yes, of course," Céleste said with a smile. "Tell her to come in, and get breakfast for her, too."

Annette bowed and quickly got out of the dining-room, leaving Céleste wondering why Meg Giry wanted to see her. She had hardly seen her while she was at the Opera Populaire, and even less talked to her… But as the young ballerina entered, Céleste was very soon torn away from her thoughts and turned to Meg with a smile.

"Mademoiselle Giry! How nice to see you! Have you got any breakfast?"

"I had a bit of bread, mademoiselle, I'm fine."

"Oh, well, I've asked for a breakfast for you… It will be more consistent than that piece of bread."

With a smile and a quick bow, Meg thanked Céleste who soon invited the dancer to sit down. The petite blonde spent a few minutes silent, until Annette arrived with hot chocolate and croissants. Céleste wasn't too surprised of this quietness, knowing that she was probably waiting for them to have more privacy. She could guess very well of what they were going to talk about…

"Please leave us alone, now, Annette," Mlle de Chagny asked, "and make sure no one comes to disturb us while Mademoiselle Giry is here."

When the maid finally got out, Meg turned to Céleste.

"My mother and _he_ have sent me here," the ballerina started, insisting a bit on the he. Céleste retained herself from smiling. Meg said it in the same way her mother did, except her voice was like a bell, compared to Mme Giry's contralto. "They have asked me to act as an intermediary between him and yourself. I'll come here regularly, two times a week. Maman would have done it, but she doesn't have much time to herself since she's the ballet mistress. And I don't think he will have the occasion of coming to see you directly."

Céleste nodded her head with a smile, which Meg returned. Already, she felt she could trust the little ballerina.

"I'm happy to see that I have gotten higher in my mother's trust," continued Meg. "Just before, she wouldn't tell me anything, which put me in a rage. It was to protect me, but – you may laugh, mademoiselle – I'm not a child, anymore! And I think my mother has finally realized it."

"Oh, don't worry, I can understand very well," Céleste laughed as she talked, feeling truly relaxed with Meg.

"There was one time when I almost got to his lair… I had entered Christine's room while she wasn't there, one night, just after the Hannibal representation… and the mirror was slightly open. I had started to walk through the corridor, but my mother came in and got me out. I'll let you imagine the sermon which was awaiting me…"

Céleste giggled with Meg especially when she saw her little exasperated look, but her thoughts were somewhere else. She was thinking of that night which had followed Hannibal, remembering what Raoul had told her about it. Christine had been in the Phantom's lair… And though her brother had assured her that the young girl hadn't been "touched" (in the rough sense of the word), Céleste had never been convinced of it. The shadow of a cynical smile appeared on her lips, a smile which Meg took notice.

"I think you don't like Christine very much, do you?" She said, without any ceremony.

Céleste lifted her head, surprised of the question. "How do you know that?" Immediately, she scolded herself. Her reaction had been so impulsive she had unwillingly revealed a part of her thoughts which she had always kept carefully hidden. But a kind smile had appeared on Meg's face.

"It's alright. I know what it is to be jealous of her. I've been jealous of her myself, though she's my friend."

"Really? Well, anyway, how do you assume that I'm jealous of her? It's simply because my brother did a misalliance by…"

"Well," interrupted Meg, "she had the opportunity of becoming a great prima donna and to marry the man she loves, especially that he's rich and that he loves her too. Who wouldn't want that? But I've did quite well since then. I'm a soloist dancer, now, and I even replace La Sorelli from time to time. I remember that sometimes, I've wanted to be a prima donna – because, you know, my voice isn't too bad (she giggled), but now, I'm happy as I am."

"But… you were staying friends with Christine?" Céleste carefully asked, not wanting to add the possibility that this friendship could have been somewhat interested.

"I was friends with her because somehow, she needed me. Christine isn't at all a bad person. Though, sometimes, I complained to myself about her being so passive. But she has lost her father, and she suffered about it until Raoul – your brother – came. I couldn't leave her alone. I was happy for her, and I wanted her to know that… But the rest, I've kept that for me."

Céleste smiled, and gently took Meg's hand. "Then you have more heart than me, Mademoiselle Giry."

"Then, I think we are friends then?" asked the ballerina cheerfully.

"No need to ask."

* * *

The same evening, it was New Year's Eve, and Philippe was throwing a party where, of course, Céleste was invited. Immediately, as she entered, she not only saluted Philippe and Raoul, but also Christine, determined, if not to befriend her (which she didn't feel quite ready for) to at least be kinder to her. The lights and the smiles on every guest's face produced a very communicative joy, which gained Céleste without any difficulty… Until she saw that Soliman was one of the guests.

Desperately, she tried everything to avoid him: talking to people she knew, even going to the bathroom until the limits of decency forbid it, but, just before the countdown before midnight started, while Céleste was walking through the room looking very occupied, she heard Philippe calling her: "Céleste!". And, as she turned around, to see him with Soliman, she closed her eyes. Now, she couldn't escape anymore.

With a smile, she approached the two men, hiding her feelings so well it didn't seem at all that she felt like some French Revolution victim going to the guillotine.

"Céleste," Philippe started, "Soliman wished to ask you something."

The young lady, by her brother's too-smiling attitude, knew a bit too well what he meant. It was almost totally numb that she followed Soliman to a living-room which was nearby, and listened very passively to what he was telling her and asking her. To resume everything, it was pretty much what she had feared for so long: he was asking her in marriage. She just felt energetic enough to say the expected answer, and she truly thanked God for the existence of this sentence: it was just enough to calm down an undesirable suitor, and it was perfectly decent for someone you did want to share your life with. Of course, for Céleste, she said more for the first option… But she knew it would be Philippe, in the end, who would decide. And for the first time, she wasn't at all agreeing with her brother. Always, she had said to herself that Philippe did things for the best, but now… it was different.

"Monsieur, I am very honored by your demand, but… this is so unexpected. I think I truly need time to think."

"Take the time you need, mademoiselle," Soliman said softly, getting closer to Céleste, who congealed. But, as the Shah's brother hand gently posed on her shoulder and started caressing her arm, she withdrew quickly, and stared at Soliman intently. For a minute, they were watching themselves, like two duelists preparing for a fight to the death. And finally, with a sneer, Soliman headed slowly towards the door, leaving Céleste alone, trembling.

"Oh, just before, mademoiselle," the man said, his hand on the door knob. "Don't go chitchat too much to your siblings, hmm? Your younger brother is, I think, more than fed up with the Angel of Death, which seemingly isn't your case… I don't think Philippe and Raoul would appreciate to know that I saw you, that night and…"

"You are a monster."

Céleste didn't feel any fear to interrupt Soliman and to tell him such a thing. Anyway, besides his threats, he wouldn't attack her or something like that… Or would he?

"You can insult me as much as you want, mademoiselle, especially that anger fits you well. But it won't change anything. The Angel of Death may boast that he always wins, but it's false. _I_ always win," he finally said, insisting on the I, before getting out of the room, leaving Céleste, sick at heart, behind.

Breathing in to gain back colors on her face, and trying very hard to have a light smile, remembering Soliman's threats, she got out quite calmly of the living-room, to meet, on the very first sight, Christine looking at her, a sadden and somehow understanding look on her face. Céleste turned away her face, bitter. What, Madame-I-Have-A-Perfect-Life was giving her the wonderful present of her pity?

A tear fell on Céleste's cheek. Meg was right. She was jealous.

* * *

**And here you go! Sassy Meg's in the place! Plus a cliffie! XD Don't forget to drop a little review!**

**P.S. If some of you want to hear the aria Erik has composed for Céleste, listen to the orchestral version of Elements by Lindsey Stirling. Ignore the modern musical background, and just listen to the violin. It really makes me think of a snow storm… Though the video's theme is actually the Dracula TV series. But anyway… XD**


	14. Chapter 13

**Hey guys! So here's a new chapter for you! **

**Answers to reviews: **

**TheCrimson Pen: **Yes, I think everyone hates Soliman, now. XD NOW, PEOPLE, YOU HAVE NO REASON TO HATE RAOUL MORE THAN SOLIMAN. OKAY? *Okay, okay, I'm out of here*

Erik's reaction? He'll be furious, guaranteed. XD

**Erik's guest: **I think everybody, though it wasn't really possible, were crossing their fingers for a kiss… Everyone loves big damn kisses. XD But thanks again for following so faithfully. ;)

**YourPhan: **I think everyone is now hooked to the updates to see when Céleste and Erik will FINALLY face it. XD And don't worry, writing is my passion and will last forever. Promised on Peter Pan and Aslan's heads. XD

**Lydia the tygeropean: **Thanks! And yes, who doesn't love Meg? Really?

**PhantomFan01: **Meg rocks! And yes, Lindsey Stirling is amazing, I'm a big fan of her, and I just loved her Phantom of the Opera medley. The first time I listened to it, and when the electric guitars started, my reaction was pretty much: "H*LL YEAAAAH!" The only low (and it's really nothing, I guess she just didn't have enough room for it), it's that she didn't play The Point of no Return. This POTO song played on the violin is. Simply. Breathtaking. The violin really possesses all the passion to make an amazing rendition of it.

And yes, good old cliffhangers are a sadistic trick invented by authors to make sure their readers keep on reading. MWAHAHAHA! XD

**Aria: **Your reviews sure took me completely on surprise! Well thank you very much for taking time to review, it was really appreciated!

There is a lot of Frozen inspiration spread here and there because at the beginning, I wanted to do a Once Upon a Time/POTO/Frozen crossover. But then, the idea of having Erik falling in love with Raoul's sister came, and it was brilliant, and I decided to base myself on Elsa to create Céleste. But my crossover is still dinging in my mind, and I even started to prepare it! It will come out soon on Fanfiction! And yes, Frozen is one of my favorite Disney movies, along with Tangled and Beauty and the Beast (surprise surprise. XD)

I wanted Céleste to be Christine's total opposite, because, let's face it, Christine Daaé is the damsel in distress by excellence. Céleste, though she is totally freaked out, won't be afraid of standing in front of the Phantom. And the main reason why I'm team Raoul unlike almost everybody on the planet it's because at the basis, I don't like Christine (without hating her). I mean, Erik disserves better.

Prussia is Germany, before 1871. ;) Only, it didn't have Bavaria back then, since Bavaria belonged to the Austrian empire. But I think you guessed that later. ;)

Glad to see you liked the fluffy Raoul/Christine moment! Seriously, there aren't enough in the movie or musical.

A description of her dress? Well, I would see her at the beginning being dressed really "tight". See it a bit like Elsa during the coronation. (Boy was her dress ugly then!)

And if she remembers how to play the violin after all these years, well… Céleste is a music genius. ;) And Erik did even better: he learned tons of instruments by himself. ;)

AND YES, THE PERSIAN ROCKS!

Don't worry, I have nothing against Germans… ;)

The poison the Phantom used on La Parilla? Oh, it's simple, you can find it on eBay (ok, ok, I'll stop my bad jokes). Erik's concoctions. ;) Some can make you croak, some will attack your skin… XD

At first, I thought Erik's revenge plan was a bit too insanely complicated, but glad to see that you liked it! And Gone with the Wind is my #1 reference about "How marriages worked back then". So I know that when you dishonored a girl, you had to marry her. ;)

And I'm so glad to hear that you love Céleste, like everyone does! Creating an OC for POTO and making her interesting enough is always risky…

I think Erik has started to compose again about… well, ten months after Christine left. Gosh, poor Erik. *gives him a hug*

I know what you mean about Céleste's dress for the masquerade… I was writing about it and I wanted it too… XD

I never thought of Céleste, Erik and Soliman as being similar to Katniss, Peeta and Snow! But it's true that in a certain way, they're alike. But I'll admit it, I like Hunger Games, though I'm not really a fan of it. (But I am a Jennifer Lawrence fan. *-*)

By the way… raise your hand if you wanna "Erik tortures Soliman" scene! XD

And I think not only Céleste is growing on Erik, but Erik is also growing on her! *Overdose of fluff squeal*

Thanks for encouraging me in writing, it's more than appreciated! And I'm really touched that I'm actually inspiring you… OH. MY. GOSH. *Cries*

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything coming from ALW or Kay. Anything from Leroux belongs to the public domain. **

* * *

**Chapter 13**

Of course, it was an established fact that people who had celebrated New Year's Eve slept during the day of January 1st. It was the case for many – except Céleste. So many faces were marching in her mind: Soliman's almost sadistic grin, Christine's annoying sadden puppy face, Philippe's and Raoul's cheerful smiles, where you could read all the ignorance of what had truly happened, Meg's childish cherub face, the Daroga and Mme Giry's serious countenances, and, more especially, Erik's half-hidden features, which, strangely, became somehow comforting in Céleste's struggles to forget everything for a few hours and simply go to sleep. Though now, she didn't feel safe at all, except when she thought of Erik. Yes, he was a man in the flesh, and the young lady knew his story well enough to be aware of that. But in some way, he did resemble an angel in so many manners: probably not an angel of God, but neither an angel coming from Hell.

Yes, Céleste had never wanted, and still didn't want to be some damsel in distress. Her origins could prove it very well. Isabelle de Chagny, willingly, had followed the Crusaders in 1098, bearing all the suffering and privations which came on the very difficult trip to Jerusalem, surviving her younger brother Hugues, who died of the plague, to receive the extreme reward of seeing a Christian flag, after a great battle led by Godefroi de Bouillon, float on the Holy City. Hermine de Bassompierre, Comtesse de Chagny by marriage, had resisted a Burgundian siege of five hundred men with only a hundred on her side, while her husband was absent, during the Hundred Years War, in 1378. And, during the French Revolution, Marie-Angélique de Chagny, during the wars in Vendee, had join the little Royalist forces battling for the imprisoned King and had even fought on La Rochejacquelin and Charette's sides.

Yes, she came from a family where the women knew what they wanted and were never afraid of defending themselves or their beliefs. But somehow, you always need a guardian angel, don't you? Yes, a guardian angel, even dark. And, even after all what happened between her family and Erik, Céleste knew that she could trust who Soliman called the Angel of Death.

In a certain way, yes, Erik was like a ghost. Ghosts were wandering souls, condemned never to taste the delights of Heaven, but at the same time, spared by Hell. And even Purgatory didn't want them. A duality was existent within Erik. Part of him reminded of God's angels, but another part, of a fallen angel, or even a demon.

When January 2nd came, Mlle de Chagny had hardly slept at all. But she wasn't tired, caught by some sort of nervous adrenaline, waiting for Meg's promised visit. She still hesitated to tell the ballerina (and indirectly, Erik) about Soliman's proposal and his threats. She realized, at that moment, that he would throw himself into the lion's mouth… for her. And usually, men who did that were…

No, this couldn't be. It was by principle that Erik was doing this, Soliman being his worst enemy. It had to be…

But no. Erik had absolutely no principles. So…

_Was he in love with her? _

Stupid question. Of course he was. You had to be blind not to realize it.

But the arrival of Annette, announcing that Mademoiselle Giry wished to see her, interrupted the young lady's thoughts.

Trembling a bit because of her recent realization, Mlle de Chagny smiled to Meg as she entered in her living-room.

"Good morning, Meg," Céleste started, since the girls had both agreed in calling each other by their first name. "Any news from the Opera Populaire?"

"Nothing much. We were closed yesterday since it was January 1st, but we supposed that Soliman might have been invited for New Year's Eve by your brothers."

Céleste lifted down her eyes, seeing that she was somehow trapped either way. Yes, Erik had to know what was going now, since he became more and more evident that in Soliman's plan for Erik and the Daroga, she would have to play an important role. It couldn't be a coincidence. It couldn't be. And Meg needed no words from Céleste to understand that something was wrong.

"Oh, Meg, please, tell him not to do anything stupid, I beg you," Mlle de Chagny finally said, her voice slightly trembling. "Because what happened yesterday… because… because…"

Meg, quietly, grabbed Céleste's hands gently.

"Just tell me what happened. We'll see after if it's better for him to know about everything or not."

Taking a deep breath, Céleste said everything to Meg, Soliman's proposal, his threats, and also her suspicions about him having made the connection between her family and Erik, which was becoming more and more evident. The young ballerina listened to her fixedly, until she had finished her story. Céleste felt almost relieved just by telling it, like part of her burden had fell on Meg's shoulders.

"Well… I think it is better if he's aware of everything…" started Meg prudently. "But I will tell him that you requested him not to act impulsively."

Céleste was only a little bit reassured by Meg's assurance. Of course, she would do everything as she promised, but she knew Erik well enough to tell that with his stubbornness, he would probably act recklessly once again. He had acted like this before, anyway. He had even been capable of crashing a chandelier, burning part of HIS Opera house. Yes, he would be able of taking risks and probably facilitate Soliman's plan.

_Because he loved her. _

That was the terrible truth.

But, as Céleste thought of it, her gaze travelling through her living-room, while Meg was respectfully remaining silent, the awareness that Erik was in love with her didn't bother her in the sense that she, in return, didn't have any feelings for him. It was just that… it wasn't possible. At all. And she didn't want to think about it, because it hurt.

_If it hurts to think about it… maybe it's because I do love him. _

Céleste had never fallen in love before. Yes, she was ready to admit that she was attracted to Erik, but in love with him… It seemed like a whole other thing, and it sort of scared her.

But soon, quick steps could be heard at the outside of the living-room. The two girls could hear: "Madame, please, don't run, especially in your state…"

The door flung open. An exhausted Annette came in, starting quickly: "Mademoiselle, I'm sorry, I said you didn't want to be bothered when Mademoiselle Giry is here and…"

But soon, the maid was interrupted by Christine, entering the room as quickly as her pregnancy could permit her, to Céleste and Meg's incredulous eyes.

* * *

"Christine?" They both said in a chorus.

"Meg, I'm so glad to see you!" Christine started. "Céleste, I'm sorry for intruding myself like this, but you just had to know…"

The vicomtesse's voice was shaking, and Céleste, her surprise calmed down, could see all the shock, fear and sadness which marked her porcelain doll face. And, for the first time, she didn't feel any hatred nor disdain towards her. Even, she smiled in a comforting way to her sister-in-law, well Meg was gently taking her best friend's hand and guiding her towards a chair so she could sit and be more comfortable.

"Do you feel well enough to tell us what is going on?" asked Meg gently.

Christine nodded, taking a deep breath and lifting her head, her eyes now calm. But she remained pale.

"First of all, Céleste, I want you to know that I have heard everything Soliman has told you, since you were both in a room which is just beside our bedroom." (By _our_, of course, Christine was including Raoul and herself.) "I know he's aware of _his _presence, and that he's up to no good, and that he knows that you have been in relation with him. How, I don't want to know, Céleste. But just tell me: is _he _alright?"

Christine's eyes were almost pleading for an answer. Céleste felt suddenly a cold shower falling on her head. She wanted news of her possible ex-lover? Yes, she would get them. But she wanted to get a few things clear.

"He's fine," she answered abruptly. "Why do you want to know?"

Christine glanced quickly towards Meg's eyes, and in only one look, she understood many things.

"It's not at all because I have any sort of… feelings for him," started Christine slowly. "It's just… he has been a presence for me when I was desperate because of my father's death. He has taught me to sing… And I will never forget it. I felt guilty of leaving him behind, on the fire's night, but I knew I did the best choice. I love Raoul, Céleste, truly. And I want you to believe that."

Though she was fighting very hard against it, Céleste could see that Christine was sincere. Well, it looked like she had been wrong about her… Oh well. Without smiling, but looking in Christine's eyes without a shadow of dislike, she said calmly: "I believe you, Christine."

The Swedish girl smiled. And on her face, a great joy appeared. She knew that that day, Céleste had somehow forgiven her for all the offenses she had made to her unwillingly, and it gave her courage to continue what she had to announce her. And it wasn't pretty at all.

"Monsieur Soliman has come for a visit a few hours ago… and then, I was absent for a while and, when I came back, I overheard the conversation he had with Philippe and Raoul… They didn't know I was there, because, if it was the case, they would have never dared to talk of it in front of me. They've… they're planning to capture _him_ for good. Soliman is acting as the good soul who says he has also been indirectly a victim of him, he talked about a fiancée he used to have or something – and he said he knows his techniques very well, and, and… I know most of this isn't true, especially when he said that he loved you, and that he wanted you to be safe if _he_ ever wanted to revenge, and… and…"

Christine burst into tears, exhausted by her effort, while Meg quickly ran to her and hugged her tightly, murmuring "Shhh…" to calm her down. Meanwhile, Céleste remained at her place, numb, still having trouble realizing what she had just heard.

Well, at least Philippe and Raoul still didn't know anything about Erik and herself.

But now, they didn't have just Soliman to worry about. They also had two other people on their list. Who was next? Firmin? André? Why not La Parilla?

"I think you know what to do, Meg," Céleste finally said, unexpressive.

Meg nodded her head.

"How did you get, here, anyway?" Céleste asked Christine, when she seemed more composed.

"I… waited for Soliman to leave and I stayed in my room. When Raoul came to see me, I told him I just had a headache and that I wanted to go outside to have a bit of fresh air. I said I was going to the Champs-Élysées, alone. But instead, I told the coachman to take me to you home…"

Céleste nodded her head, while Meg, with a teasing smile, said: "I'm proud of you."

"I can take care of myself, Marguerite Giry…" replied Christine, with a cheeky look. "To a certain point."

The three girls laughed nervously, which made the tension drop a bit. But not completely.

* * *

About an hour later, Meg left, charged of the very difficult task of informing Erik of everything. When Christine started to worry about the time, Céleste proposed gently to her that she could stay for the night.

"I think you had a lot of emotions," she added as an argument, "and we don't want Philippe and especially Raoul to notice it."

"I thought of this also," said Christine, "but I was afraid of asking you."

Céleste smiled, but her grin was a sad one, as she was remembering all the resentment she had felt towards Christine.

Quickly, she wrote a note to explain without arousing suspicion Christine's absence to her brothers.

_Philippe, Raoul, _

_Christine will be staying at my home for the night. She didn't feel very well during her drive through the Champs-Élysées, so since she was near my house, she came here. My neighbor, Mme Duboulleau, has seen her, and said her indisposition will be gone tomorrow and that she simply requires rest, so I had no need of calling the doctor. It's useless to come and see her – she needs to stay alone and I'm afraid your presence may not help. _

_Yours, _

_Céleste _

Everything should be fine, for tonight. But, though all the doors and windows were well shut, that the servants were there, Céleste nor Christine felt safe.

Thankfully, they received no unexpected visits from anyone. When bedtime came, Mlle de Chagny had the vicomtesse install herself in a spare bedroom, and lent a nightgown to her.

But, all alone in her bed, Céleste couldn't fall asleep and felt quite insecure. When she heard a gentle knock on her door, she jumped suddenly, imagining a thousand terrible scenarios and whispered, in a voice she would have wanted to be firmer:

"Who's there?"

"It's me," Christine's sweet voice answered. "Can… can I come in? I don't feel safe in my room."

"Come in." When the young Swedish girl opened the door, Céleste looked at her with a weak smile. "I don't feel safe either."

Mlle de Chagny settled on the right side of her bed, near the window, leaving the left side to Christine, knowing that she would feel safer that way. Céleste wasn't too reassured by the fact that she was just beside the window, irrationally but truly afraid that Soliman would simply jump in the room by breaking the window.

It was about two hours later, when the two girls were just about to fall asleep that suddenly, they both heard someone knocking at the window.

"What's that?" whispered Christine, her voice trembling and even more high-pitched than usual.

"I… I don't know…" Céleste was going to comfort Christine, though she was quite terrified herself, when suddenly, they both saw a dark silhouette standing on the window's outside sill. Immediately, they cuddled up each other, and Céleste squeezed Christine's hand, begging her: "Please… don't scream."

The silhouette starting knocking harder and harder on the window with something, until what was holding it closed broke and opened it, letting a gust of cold winter air coming into the chamber. Céleste and Christine smothered a cry, covering their eyes, by a childish reflex, with their sheets. But soon, Mlle de Chagny lifted up her eyes, screwing them up to see better in the darkness.

And when she saw who it was, her mouth opened, and she was unable to say anything.

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**Sorry for the cliffhanger! But… you know what? No. I'm not sorry at all! Mwahahaha! Don't forget to let a little review; you know I always love them! ;) I'll try not to let the suspense last for too long… **


	15. Chapter 14

**I think you all guessed who introduced himself into Céleste's bedroom, hmm? Well anyway, here's a new chapter!**

**Answers to reviews: **

**PhantomFan01: **You'll see. Hihihi. XD

**Erik's guest: **Well, the reason why he doesn't have a glass cutter is for practical reasons later. ;) You'll see in this chapter.

**Lydia the tygeropean: **;)

**PhantomLilac: **You'll see! Thanks. :D

**lorxy: **Cliffhangers are always fun. XD And thanks! ;)

**Aria: **You're welcome! And there are never stupid questions. Just stupid answers. ;) Well, just to give a clue… I don't think it might be Raoul. I mean, Raoul would just knock on the door and probably that the idea climbing up to Céleste's bedroom window wouldn't even come to him. XD

And good luck with your phanfic! :D

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything coming from ALW nor Kay. Anything coming from Leroux belongs to the public domain.**

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**Chapter 14**

It was only a few minutes later that finally, FINALLY, Céleste dared to say something. The few minutes in question were spent in a very awkward moment where Erik (for the silhouette is question was indeed him) was looking at Céleste, then at Christine, seemingly shocked, where Céleste was looking at Erik and Christine, afraid of the Phantom's reaction, and where Christine was looking at Erik and Céleste, retaining a smile while seeing their speechless looks when they looked at each other, and at the same time, trembling, terrified of Erik's presence and how he would react because of her being there.

"Erik?" Céleste mumbled, not realizing that for the first time, she had called him by his first name, and in a way that you could suspect familiarity between them. "You… I… She…" Remembering what she had told Meg, to beg Erik not to do anything stupid, she felt anger rising within her.

"Didn't Meg tell you? Are you looking for trouble or what?"

"I'm not leaving you here," started Erik, his voice being more a growl than the sound of someone speaking.

"Well, if I run away with you, if that is what you plan, Soliman and my brothers will have every reason to track you down. Can't you just think in a logical way for five minutes of your life?"

"I could just leave you alone with your problems if you prefer," answered Erik, grimly. But he was only half-present. From time to time, he was looking quickly towards Christine, his face getting paler and paler by the second. Céleste, of course, observed it, and jealousy rose into her. Yes, she was ready to admit it, seeing Erik and Christine in the same room did annoy her, and to the highest degree!

"Is everything alright, Erik?" Céleste asked, exasperated.

"Yes," he finally answered, recovering his usual arrogant casualness. "Well, to tell you the truth, I prefer facing Soliman and your brothers than to leave you here. So you decide. Or I leave and you never hear of me again, or you follow me."

"Just in case you didn't notice, I can't just leave like this while I have a visitor. But I think you know that, am I wrong?"

In a menacing way, Erik came up to the bed where were sitting the two girls, while Christine, holding herself from screaming, almost hid herself behind Céleste, who was quite scared herself but stood straight, even when the Phantom's face was about at thirty centimeters from hers. Quickly, Christine glanced at Céleste than at Erik, looking discreetly at them confronting each other, and felt somehow reassured of her sister-in-law's brave attitude. But soon, the Phantom's gaze met hers, and as he saw how frightened Christine was, he sighed and pushed back of a few steps, hiding a sort of painful expression.

"Well," Céleste finally said, "it looks like I have no choice, anyway. But to at least cover my kidnapping for a while, until we think of something, do you permit me to at least give a few recommendations to Christine?"

Erik nodded in the dark, retaining himself from doing any movement showing his nervous exasperation. Slowly, Céleste got up, took Christine by the hand and encouraged her to follow her outside the room. As the vicomtesse got up, her nightgown showed quite well her pregnancy, especially when she placed her hand on her abdomen, as if to protect her child. As Erik remarked it, he turned away his head towards the window, not to see more of it. As they got out, Céleste let the door slightly open, just enough so the Phantom could see them (and not hear them) and observe that they wouldn't run away.

"Now listen to me, Christine," whispered Céleste. "This is very important and I'm counting on you. Tomorrow, you will get up late, and you will tell the servants and the people at home when you come back that I got up early, without waiting for you and that I didn't want to disturb. I'm spending two weeks at the Sacré-Coeur convent, where I taught for a year, on the pretext that I'm thinking about my wedding and everything. For the window, you'll say that I tried to open it to get a bit of fresh air and that I accidently broke it. Do you understand?"

Christine nodded, her eyes staring at Céleste's intently, when suddenly, the two girls heard the sound of something made of glass or porcelain cracking.

Finally, the two girls entered the room, to see Erik nonchalantly sitting on the window's bottom edge, with what fragments of what used to be two vases spread all around him. Céleste retained herself from laughing and asking Erik: "Isn't that what girls usually do when they're mad?" But since now, Erik seemed calmer, she didn't want him to throw a tantrum, and especially in front of a pregnant Christine. Quickly, without further ado though it was quite tempting, she took a broom to push away the porcelain fragments under her bed, though she really felt like just giving the broom to Erik so he could clean up his own mess himself, and after, she seized a large bag she had, to take a few things she would need.

"Do you think you're going on some vacation or what?" asked Erik, grimly.

"Well, so it won't look like a kidnapping for a while, and to show that I'm truly gone at the convent for two weeks, I'll have to bring at least a few things," answered Céleste in the same manner. "But even a bag looks strange. I should take a trunk, but for you, I don't think it will be very practical, since I suppose you came here by foot," she added, looking dourly at Erik.

"I have a horse," he answered, still harshly.

"Did you _borrow _it?" she asked, insisting very sarcastically on the "borrow".

"No. The horse is mine."

For a moment, Céleste stopped preparing her bag. "How can you keep a horse in the underground and bring him outside after?"

"How can you keep asking questions all the time?"

Céleste lifted up her eyes towards the ceiling and sighed, exasperated, and continued to prepare herself. After she gathered three very simple dresses, who would be appropriate for a convent, she suddenly dropped her bag, paced through her room, thinking absorbedly, and then whispered at Christine: "Say I didn't bring much because I'm buying new clothes!"

Christine nodded, while Erik lifted up a brow, seemingly impressed of Céleste's ingenuity.

A few minutes after, Céleste was finally ready. Her head high, she advanced towards the window and said, her voice clear: "I'm ready."

"You forgot something," Erik said in a strangely gentle way.

"Forgot what?"

"Your violin."

Quickly, Céleste turned her head towards the corner where she kept her instrument, to turn back towards Erik and smile at him, just before immediately seizing her violin. A shadow of a smile appeared on the Phantom's lips, in such a way that Christine, who had taken place back into the bed, could see all the little gazes the man who had been her Angel of Music once was giving at Céleste, though they were very furtive. Warmth slowly developed in her heart. She knew that somehow, there was hope for her Angel.

But, as Céleste came back, the two girls realized quickly that now, it seemed like the Phantom, as he was looking at Christine, was somehow hesitating. And they both knew why: he was thinking of taking Christine at the same time. The occasion was perfect, yes. Many times, since she had left him on the night of Don Juan Triumphant, Erik had dreamed of that moment where he could get Christine back from the Vicomte. It seemed like it had been given to him on this very night. But somehow, Erik didn't want Christine to be with him anymore, now. And already, he could feel Céleste's cold glare on him, like if she was reading in him like a book.

"Are you also forgetting something?"

That was more than enough for Erik to handle, for he had made an amazing effort to remain calm for the last several minutes. As fast as lightening, he grabbed Céleste's throat tightly, not hard enough to strangle her but just as much as necessary to make her let her bag and her violin case fall on the ground, cough a bit because of the sudden lack of air, and to try desperately to get free from Erik's grip by putting her hands on his arm and struggling to bring it down, without success. Erik's arm seemed to be made of iron. Christine, meanwhile, had grabbed the bed's sheets, like if she was attempting to protect herself with them, her face as pale as the time where Raoul had been at two fingers of being killed, and resisting against faint.

"You seem to like to put yourself into trouble, hey?" growled Erik. Without further ado, he grasped a folded handkerchief with his free hand into his pocket and almost crushed it on Céleste's mouth. Immediately, the young lady smelled a persisting perfume which made her heart lift, and soon, everything became dark around her while she fell towards, only to be caught just in time by Erik.

He looked for a moment down the window, and observed the rope he had used to get up. Though Céleste was light, it seemed solid enough to support both their weights, and so was the stone ornament where he had tied the rope in place. He looked in the garden on which Céleste's room was giving, and more especially towards the alleys and the other houses which were surrounding it. No one was there. And if some burglar tried to meddle with him… well, he had no idea that it was with the Phantom of the Opera himself that he was going to interfere with.

When he turned his head back towards the room, he saw that Christine, probably too worn out of the events which had just occurred, had fainted. For a moment, he observed her, wondering why he had even hesitated to bring her with him or not. Now, it seemed all so far away… He remembered how, during this whole scene, she had seemed so absent, while Céleste, though she was sometimes trembling of fear, had been brave enough to stand up to him…

As he glimpsed throughout the room, he saw, left on a chair, the Snow Queen dress he had given to Céleste for the masquerade, a few days ago. Putting down Mlle de Chagny's inert body delicately, Erik seized the dress and, folding it quickly, he inserted it in her bag. Yes, it was totally useless and a bit stupid of him to load her down with that… but he just couldn't leave it there.

But suddenly, he realized that with a fainted Céleste, it would be quite difficult to get down to the ground. At first gently, but more and more quickly, he shook Céleste's hands and arms, taping her cheeks a little bit, until finally, she came back, and looked around her, puzzled and her mind still in the fog.

"We're going," Erik said simply.

Céleste looked quickly towards the bed, and saw Christine sleeping or in a faint state, and, without further ado, murmuring mentally a quick prayer so her sister-in-law wouldn't forget her recommendations, she seized her bag, which she placed across her shoulder, and grabbed a pair of ankle boots that she put on, while Erik had tied a rope around her violin case and had also placed it around his shoulder, the case resting on his back.

Seeing that Céleste was ready, Erik headed towards the window, followed by the young lady, who observed him as he seized the rope he had used to climb, and, well clung to it, in a crouched position, his feet finding their balance on the window's bottom edge, he made sign for Céleste to come with a little movement of the head.

"Sit on the edge, face to your room." he ordered her.

Céleste complied with it, and slowly, Erik grabbed her left arm, lifting it in order to get her hand, which he guided towards the rope so it could seize it. Keeping his left hand on hers, he did the same with the right one. He afterwards ordered Céleste to get up on the edge, which she did… but that implied her to lean herself on Erik. As the two of them gasped simultaneously, feeling the warmth of each other, they seemed to hesitate for a while, when the Phantom finally broke the silence by whispering:

"Now just hold the rope less tightly, but don't let it go completely… Just so we can slip down."

Slowly, with Erik sort of jumping on the wall from time to time to control their slip, they finally got down, and, when Céleste let go of the rope, she shivered. After all, she was still in her nightgown, since she had completely forgotten to take a shawl or something. _God, I should have thought of that… I had enough presence of spirit to take my ankle boots, but I wasn't smart enough to take a shawl… Well, at least when I was coming down the wall, Erik was there to warm me up… Wait… What? _

"Are you cold?"

Erik had asked her that somehow indifferently, by judging by the tone of his voice. But he couldn't hide a twinkle of concern in his eyes, and Céleste retained herself from smiling. She simply shrugged.

"I can handle it," she answered.

Like if he hadn't heard her last sentence, Erik took off his cape and handed it to her. "Take it," he simply said.

"I told you I was alright," Céleste replied, with a bit of annoyance in her voice. "And… well, you'll be cold yourself," she added, daring to say her true thoughts.

Erik shrugged, and laughed bitterly.

"I've already been even less dressed on colder nights than tonight. But you… You know nothing of misery."

Without saying a word, her eyes low, Céleste seized the cape without further ado, and wrapped herself in it, feeling quite small in its blackness and size. And slowly, she lifted up her eyes towards Erik's, and looking intently into his, she said, her voice soft, as soft as snowflakes falling slowly on the ground in some sort of sound similar to chimes:

"There are many kinds of misery, you know. And it's our duty to help each other. So thank you."

By thank you, Céleste meant not only the warm cape. She meant everything. Because she knew that, mainly because of Erik, she wasn't quite the same young woman who had left the convent, was kept from giving herself to music, and had been furious and jealous of Raoul and Christine's happiness. And, to her great surprise, but also pleasure, it seemed like Erik understood her thank you. For the first time since she had met him, he smiled, of a true smile, and it was given to her. And, though he said nothing, Céleste knew that Erik was thanking her.

But soon, they realized it was time for them to go. Three o'clock had wrung at the nearby tower clock, and, before the early risers would wake up and see them, they decided to leave as quickly as they could.

Erik, after doing a defined move on the climbing rope in order for it to almost magically come down and enrolling it to install it on his shoulder, guided Céleste out of the garden by climbing the gate, and towards many alleys, until they arrived to a blind alley Céleste was almost surprised to see, for it was quite hard to find in the darkness. Erik whistled in a very particular manner, and a black horse, all saddled up, came out of the blind alley. After he helped Céleste to climb on the animal, he got up there himself, and they took off.

About a quarter of an hour later, they had arrived to the Opera Populaire, at the left side of it, to be more precise. Immediately, Erik got off the horse and headed towards the Opera Populaire's wall, and ran his hand over it, as if he was looking for something in the darkness. Suddenly, an entrance appeared, revealing a secret passageway. He headed back towards the horse and Céleste, who was still on it, and took the reins, to guide the animal towards the passageway.

Ten minutes passed, and they seemed like ten hours to Céleste, since the tunnel they were travelling through was extending so much she was superstitiously starting to wonder if it wasn't some passageway to hell. Finally, they arrived to a lit place, where Céleste could see a horse's box. When the animal was stopped by Erik, Mlle de Chagny got down by herself.

"Don't go wandering around," warned her Erik. "There are traps here and there, and there are only four people who know how they work."

By four, he meant of course himself, the Daroga, Mme Giry, and also, unfortunately, Soliman. After all, many years ago, Erik did design these kinds of traps for their entertainment and the "education" the Khanum wanted to give him…

As soon as he had unsaddled the horse and installed it in his box, Erik headed back towards Céleste, and took a torch which was fixed just before on the wall, and handed out his hand to the young lady. For a second, Céleste hesitated... Then, in an almost daredevil way, she took Erik's hand, and the delicate but firm way she did it made the Phantom interiorly jump, then comforted him more than he was ever comforted in his whole life.

A quarter of an hour later, they were both in the gondola, and were about to arrive at the lair's gate when Erik suddenly whispered to Céleste:

"Don't make too much noise when we arrive. Nadir is there."

"Really?" Céleste replied, glad to see the Daroga again, for she had not seen him since the night of _Sleeping Beauty. _

"Yes. And I didn't inform him at all of my plans about you, since he would have probably gone mad because of it, well, for as much as Nadir can go mad. But still, I don't want to see his Lent face for the next several weeks, because he's very good at those, and I can threaten him as much as I want that if he continues, I'll let him find another hiding place, he'll know I'm just bluffing."

Céleste retained herself from smiling. But Erik saw it…

"What's so funny?"

With a bit of a cheeky smile, she shrugged. With an annoyed look, Erik lifted up his eyes towards the ceiling in such a drama-queen way that his time, Céleste burst out laughing, to immediately calm herself down to let the sleeping dog lie… in this case, the dog's name was Nadir. And, as soon as she stopped, she turned towards Erik, whose mouth was still smiling and whose breast was still shaking… Obviously, he had laughed himself, while she was not looking, and had immediately stopped when she had turn towards him.

Maybe one day, they would finally laugh heartily together, without any embarrassment or odd modesty…

The gate opened, and the gondola came alongside. As Céleste got off the boat, she heard Erik whispering to her: "If you feel tired… you can sleep in the swan bed."

She nodded, and at the simple mention of sleeping, she suddenly felt quite tired. But suddenly, she replied:

"But where will you sleep?"

"I don't sleep much anyway," he replied, shrugging. Suddenly, an impertinent grin appeared on his lips. "Unless… you let me sleep with you in the bed."

Céleste's eyes widened of shock, which provoked the Phantom's mocking smile she hated (and though she would never admit it, liked) so much. But just before retiring herself, she realized she still had the Phantom's cape on.

"Here," she said, handing it back to Erik. "And thank you."

"You're welcome," he answered, and with another of his true smiles.

Without further ado, Céleste headed towards the bed, tucked herself in, and realized that now, because of the long time she had spent wearing the cape, she now smelt a fragrance of eau de Cologne on her, and smiled, for she knew that because of that little element, she would dream of Erik.

About half an hour later, the Phantom, who had been sitting for that time at his desk, got up and slowly, approached the swan bed, carefully looking if Céleste's eyes weren't opening. They were indeed closed, and her regular breathing reassured him even more. As he came next to it, he bended down, until he arrived close enough to feel the young lady's breath, and quickly, he kissed her on the forehead, and left quickly, afraid that she would wake up and see him. He headed back towards his desk, and in a swift gesture, he wrapped himself into his cloak, which he remarked that it was now imprinted of a floral fragrance, which he immediately identified as Céleste's.

He had gone away so fast from the swan bed, that he didn't remarked that, just after he had kissed Céleste's forehead, the young woman had opened her eyes, and closed them again, a smile appearing on her lips.

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**How fluffy was that? XD**

**Don't forget to let a little review! ;) **


	16. Chapter 15

**I think you all had a major fluff overdose, didn't you? XD Anyway, here's a new chapter!**

**Answers to reviews: **

**PhantomLilac: **FLUFF ATTACK! XD

**PhantomFan01: **You can never die of fluffiness… There's never enough fluff… *Sadistic grin* XD

**Aria: **Yup, it's official, Christine belongs to the past now! And if she doesn't stay cool about what she has to say to Raoul… I swear I'm taking a shovel and hitting her with it. XD But don't worry. She will. ;)

And yes, sassy Erik is slowly resurfacing… For your pleasure Phangirls. XD

**Lydia the tygeropean: **Yes it was. It was basically:

"THAT AWKWARD MOMENT

Where you come to kidnap your crush and that you find her with your ex-crush who totally brought you down mentally in the same bed, both scared sh*tless."

It would be amazing on Tumblr, really.

XD

**RedDeathLvr: **Thank you so much! I hope to hear more of you! ;)

**Igenlode Wordsmith: **I'm so glad to hear of you! I thought for a moment you had stopped following my story… Another proof that I'm paranoid.

Christine? She knows nothing about Soliman, but she has a certain instinct in front of him. She's more intuitive than she looks… sometimes. XD

I had so much fun imagining them praying at midnight mass… Philippe? He's not really the type of guy who will go praying, he'll just listen to the music as a distraction, Raoul is praying for Christine and the baby (of course), Christine is all sweet, Céleste is desperate… It shows their characters well. ;)

And yes, naughty Erik used his pickpocket skills here to grab Céleste's ball notebook… For a gallant purpose. XD

Schmidt's stick? That's nothing. Frau Gerturd in Lucky Luke used her LEFT LEG to detect ghosts. She said it was possessed by the spirit of a Valkyrie.

Actually, Céleste is satisfied that Erik has a very good reason to care more about her than Christine… Though she doesn't totally realize it. Her reaction is pretty much: "Haha, I win!" XD

I think Meg is very intuitive. If you look at her closely in the 2004 movie, it shows it very well. And it's the reason why Meg has become my favorite character, recently. ;)

"Angel of Death" comes from Kay. ;) Ant that name is total badass. XD

Glad to see you like the Chagny ladies! I'm passionate about History, especially French History. I love the Crusaders, I love the wars of Vendée, I love Louis XIV, Mme de Maintenon, the Fronde, and I do also appreciate English History, a lot. The Wars of Roses, the Tudors, Charles II who was simply awesome especially in his escape from Worcester… no wonder I'm a Whovian. XD I'm also very touchy in historical accuracy. Really.

I think Christine is doing all this more for Erik than for Céleste, not because she's in love with him, but she cares deeply for him and wants him to be happy. ;) And for what is of Christine staying out of this… Well, you'll see it in the next chapter.

Well, let's just say that when Céleste tells Raoul "K, little bro, don't do this!", he usually listens to her. Ok, yes, he would have gone to see Christine, but things would have complicated a bit, so… Voilà. XD

And I really don't imagine Raoul trying to come into Céleste's house like that… He'll probably just knock at the door… I just imagined him breaking into her house, Céleste waking up and looking at Raoul: "Raoul! You are so grounded young man!" XD

**YourPhan: **Erik can be soft… Sometimes. XD

**Disclaimer: I do not own anything coming from ALW or Kay. Anything coming from Leroux belongs to the public domain.**

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**Chapter 15**

The next morning, when Christine woke up, she saw Annette, puzzled, waking her gently and looking at the window which its fastener was broken. Immediately, the vicomtesse de Chagny remembered everything Céleste had told her. She knew that she had always been a terrible liar, but this time, she wouldn't let her Angel down. She had failed him once, it wouldn't happen again. Especially that now, she had a new intention to pray for: that her Angel and Céleste would find happiness together, for she had seen, from time to time, by the way they were quickly gazing at each other, that there was something between them.

Quickly, in a very casual way, she started:

"Oh, I'm sorry for the window. I wanted to open it yesterday evening, to get a bit of fresh air, but I broke it… Céleste told me it didn't matter. I'm in her room since I felt kind of lonely in mine," she laughed. "But your mistress has warned me that she is going to the convent for two to three weeks, and she got up and left early so she wouldn't disturb you to pack her things. Anyway, she doesn't need much and she's buying new apparel."

As Christine talked, Annette immediately seemed to relax. Inside her, the vicomtesse knew it was sort of useless to inform a servant of her mistress' business, for a servant didn't need to know those things. And Céleste was taught well enough to know that. But she understood that, if her sister-in-law had asked her to do such a thing, it was so the servants would have exactly the same information as her brothers would receive.

Christine accepted the breakfast she was given, and, as soon as she was dressed, she set off back home, to be received, as almost immediately as she entered the house, by Raoul.

"Christine? Are you fine?" he asked, hugging her with a concerned look.

"Yes, of course," Christine said with a lovely smile, hiding very well the pinching she felt inside, as she thought that she was going to be forced to lie to Raoul. But there was no turning back. And once again, she felt that she was now an adult, who had to operate by herself, and that she had to proceed. Even if it was hard, and even if it seemed like she was experiencing once again the situation she had to face during _Dom Juan Triumphant_.

"Céleste has left early this morning," started Christine. "She is going to the convent where she taught to think about accepting or not Monsieur Soliman's demand. And she wishes no visitors. She really wants to be alone."

"Really? Well, I hope she'll get a bit of rest there also, since she seemed really tired the last few days and…"

Though it didn't seem like it, Christine wasn't listening anymore. Actually, she was wondering why she wasn't just bursting into tears. When Raoul was finally done talking, she muttered: "I think I'll retire to my bedroom to get changed, if you don't mind. Don't send Lise, I'll manage well on my own."

Still smiling, Christine headed towards her bedroom, and locked the door in order to be left alone. Quickly, she changed, and as soon as she was ready, she crushed on her chair, crying, but trying to hide the sound of her sobs so no one would hear her, muttering a prayer to her father in heaven, asking him to send her strength for what was coming. She felt so small in front of what was happening to her, and it wasn't the first time. But with time, she knew that in this whole story, it would be Céleste who would have to play the bigger part. Christine hoped dearly, now, that Céleste and her Angel would find happiness together, but in regards of the strict social bounds which tied her sister-in-law, would that be possible? If Céleste decided to do such a thing, it would mean abandoning everything, even her own name and her origins.

When the bell rang for dinner, a red-eyed Christine appeared at the dinning-room. Philippe, and more especially Raoul, felt worried about it, and tried everything to cheer her up, without success. Very quickly, the elder attributed this sudden sadness to the changeable mood of pregnant women. So did Raoul…. But he remarked that it was the first time it actually happened, for Christine had gone through her seven months of pregnancy easily, for what was of the mental state, though from time to time, she had fevers or headaches.

He remarked how much she seemed suddenly afraid, her head turning quickly when she heard sudden noises, just like the first days after _Il Muto _and later, _Dom Juan Triumphant_. Suddenly, suspicion entered him…

Had Christine heard about or saw the madman and, afraid of worrying him or somehow threaten, did she avoid to talk to him about it?

He was quite confident in Christine's love for himself, but he was always conscious that even with that, his wife still had a great affection for the man who had once pretended to be his Angel of Music. Part of him could do nothing but understand her. Anyway, no one disserved to be hated by everyone. But another part, which was unfortunately speaking a lot louder within him, was willing to do anything to eliminate the harmful dominion of the Phantom of the Opera.

By his will to do this, and by his teaming-up with Soliman, who he believed to be truly well-intentioned, Raoul had only one purpose: not for the pleasure of being cruel to a man already too much abused by life and its unjust brutality, but to protect Christine unselfishly. If Philippe had joined them on the pretext he also wanted to help the young couple, Raoul felt it was more for the "sport", and, deep inside, he couldn't help feeling a bit of disgust because of it. This was no game. But Philippe was such an optimistic and a bon vivant, though absolutely without being childish, that Raoul knew it was useless to convince him that this was serious business.

But the next day, when Soliman came for a visit, Raoul's suspicions only became even bigger.

He could see how much she looked like a doe who knows a wolf is after it.

Could she have overheard their conversation about their future Phantom hunt?

Was she afraid that the madman, knowing that there were men after him, would take her as a hostage to keep them tranquil?

Raoul would have given anything just to reassure Christine about all this, but he couldn't. Not until he was sure that she did have suspicions about their plans. Especially with her pregnancy, she absolutely needed nothing to upset her.

It was very noble of Soliman to accept to help them to capture the Phantom for good. With his past, Raoul had realized that things could have been much worse for Christine and himself, and he absolutely had to prevent those unfortunate events to happen.

Soliman had told Philippe and him that many years ago, he had met whom he called the Angel of Death when he was at the service of his brother, in the Manzanderan Court. He had asked, as some sort of salary for the palace he had built in accordance with the Shah's orders, a wife; but not just anyone: Soliman's own fiancée, who had just before formed a friendly bond with him, for she refused to be simply stopped because of the Court architect's disfigurement.

Soliman had announced, loud and clear, that he refused to submit to such a thing. This had leaded to the Angel of Death kidnapping Soliman's fiancée, and raping her, so the wedding between Soliman and her would never take place. It was said, anyway, in the Coran, that a man could only have a virgin as a wife, and that wasn't the case with his love anymore. And the young woman, refusing to live with such a dishonor, had committed suicide.

This was the tale that Soliman had given to the Chagny brothers, in order to raise their sympathy and their confidence. It was, of course, not true at all. But it had sure worked.

But, on that day, as he observed Soliman looking at a seemingly terrified Christine, the suspicion which had grew in him drew towards his friend, and less to his wife…

Even in his bed, the following night, Raoul couldn't explain why Soliman had such a triumphant look on his face while he was observing Christine, petrified because of his presence.

* * *

When Céleste woke up, well rested and having recovered from her recent sleepless nights, she sketched a movement of panic, wondering how come she wasn't in her room… But quickly, the past night's events came back to her, and soon, as she heard voices not too far away, she remembered. Especially the time when she was just about to go to sleep and that, suddenly, she had felt lips on her forehead. She had waited, tensed, for the person who was there to go away, and when she opened her eyes, she had just enough time to see that it had been Erik. Well, she had an intuition that it was him… and slowly, she had fallen asleep, trying not to think about it, but a smile appeared on her lips, unwillingly. But it was stronger than her strength of will.

As the fog which surrounded her still sleepy brain faded away, Céleste paid closer attention to the voices she could hear discussing. She could distinguish Erik's voice very well, and, listening even more closely, she finally recognized the Daroga's voice. It was calm and posed, as usual, but Céleste could sense certain exasperation in it. And she knew a bit too well why.

Unseen, Céleste got off the swan bed, and gazed around for her bag. It had been placed on a little table near, which surprised her, since she had simply thrown it on the ground before almost crushing on the bed. Probably Erik had placed it there…

When she opened it, she immediately saw that someone had been more than peering in it. _Oh dear. _And the first thing that caught her sight was the Snow Queen dress she had wore to the Masquerade Ball. _What on Earth is that doing there? I don't need that, and I even had trouble to bring the essential. Probably Erik put that in while he had me fainted. He seriously needs to be given a little bit more – or probably, a lot more practical sense, for Heaven's sake! _And as she looked furthermore, she saw that the dresses she had packed the previous night had mysteriously disappeared, replaced by other ones who were, Céleste was obliged to admit it, a lot prettier than the ones she had brought with her. Once again, that was totally Erik's signature. She remembered how he teased her on her "nun-like dresses", and for this time, it was true. The apparel she remembered to have brought was of a black color, and she would have looked like if she was going to a funeral, which wasn't the case. Oh well. The dresses Erik had left her were decent enough, without being Quaker-like, and somehow, she felt happy of the swap. And even deeper inside, she prayed never to see those nun-like dresses again!

She looked around for a place where she could get dressed without being eventually bothered accidently by Erik or the Daroga, and finally saw a folding screen not too far away, where she got changed. She could also see, just behind it, a dressing table where she found everything she needed to comb and prepare her hair. For once, she abandoned her eternal bun, and arranged herself in a way her hair was floating freely on her shoulders… It felt so much less tight.

Slowly, all ready, Céleste approached in the still discussing voices' direction, so she wouldn't surprise Erik and the Daroga. Finally, as she arrived near them, she exclaimed "Good morning!" cheerfully, though not too much so they wouldn't think she wasn't taking things seriously.

Erik was as unchanging as usual, like if the situation just swept on him without doing any harm, though, more and more, Céleste was realizing that it was just a way to protect himself. The Daroga, immediately, bowed slightly as soon as he saw her, and though he was controlling himself very easily too, Céleste could see that his cheeks were a bit redder than usual, certainly because of animation. As she turned towards Erik, who had also bowed, she remarked that he wasn't glancing at her too much, by some sort of discomfort. Probably that he was still thinking of that kiss on the forehead he had given her, when he thought she was asleep… Céleste retained herself from smiling and starting to tease Erik about it. Anyway, even if they were alone, probably that he wouldn't appreciate too much that she would talk about it… though it was really DEVASTAINGLY tempting.

"Mademoiselle," greeted the Daroga, "I hope you had a good night."

"Very good, thank you," Céleste answered, turning towards Erik with a malicious sparkle in her eyes. She really couldn't help it. For a quick moment, her eyes met Erik's, and in this one sight, he immediately discerned that _she was awoken when he did it_. A shade of pink, very dim, but still present, appeared on his pale cheek, and he desperately tried to look somewhere else, though it became a lot more evident than before.

Nothing of this escaped from Nadir Khan's eagle eye, but he made no further hypothesis about this little game. There were more important things to think about, by Allah!

"Mademoiselle," started the Daroga, "if you desire to go back home…"

"Nadir, I think we have talked enough about all this," interrupted Erik, his voice getting a bit louder and even more menacing.

"Maybe really retiring to the convent you had talked about to Mademoiselle Daaé…"

"Nadir, seriously, I'm just about to let you find another hiding place," continued Erik, in the same manner.

"Erik!" cried Céleste, shocked.

She realized, but too late, the mistake she had done. She saw the Daroga slowly turning towards her, lifting an incredulous eye brow, and of course surprised she had called Erik by his first name… How come they had come to such a state of familiarity? Obviously, there were things he didn't know about…

Immediately, Erik tried to save face.

"I do not remember, mademoiselle, to have permit you to use such familiarity towards me," he muttered very arrogantly.

"Well, _monsieur_," Céleste answered, insisting very sarcastically on the _monsieur_, retaining herself from calling him _Your Imperial Highness_, "I do wonder why YOU think you are well placed to remind me of such a thing, hmm?" With a very cheeky grin, Céleste scratched her forehead (not at the place where he had kissed her, of course, she, very childishly, didn't want to scratch herself there), as if she was thinking intently… But it was only another sign to demonstrate to Erik that _she knew everything_.

"I don't understand why you are reproaching this to me, mademoiselle," continued Erik, in the same manner, though the red on his right unmasked cheek was getting quite uncontrollable. But the Daroga had heard enough.

"Stop arguing! I don't know what happened, and I prefer not to know. But we won't arrive to anything if you keep on arguing like little children!" he shouted.

For a moment, Céleste and Erik stared at Nadir, disbelievingly. After all, the Daroga was one of those men who never seemed to get fuming for anything. But when they did… it was more than surprising. And Erik, who knew for a long time, tried very hard to remind himself of a time where Nadir had become this irritated… but he couldn't.

As he saw that, finally, he had closed their big mouths for at least a while, the Persian took a deep breath, and, having recovered his usual dignity, he started, looking sternly at Erik from time to time:

"If you do not feel safe at home, I think it may be judicious if you go at this convent like you have stated in your alibi."

Erik, this time, did not answer. Instead, he had seized a chair and sat on it lazily, seemingly looking somewhere else. But Céleste was starting to know him well enough to say that he was in fact waiting worryingly for her answer. She retained herself from smiling.

"I feel actually safer here, Daroga. But thank you very much for your concern."

Immediately, Erik lifted up his head, a twinkle in his eyes. But, as he saw that Nadir and Céleste had seen him doing such a gesture, he immediately looked somewhere else. The Daroga, vanquished, turned away and headed towards his quarters, muttering for himself, heard of no one:

"You are impossible, Céleste de Chagny… Just as much as _him_!"

As Nadir was leaving, Céleste approached Erik slowly, trying to catch his sight at least for a while. Hearing her approaching, the Phantom raised his head, and their eyes met... and, as he saw Céleste gently smiling to him, he could do nothing but smile back to her.

* * *

Christine Marie de Chagny, née Daaé, simply couldn't bare it anymore.

This had to be the worst day of her life since the _Dom Juan Triumphant _disaster. And before that, the worst day of her life was when her dear Daddy Daaé had died. She couldn't endure Soliman's victorious gaze on her anymore. The thought that she had lied to Raoul was torturing her. She had claimed that she had a headache, to retire in her boudoir, just beside the living-room where Raoul, Philippe and Soliman were. She had to be aware of what they were planning. It would torture even more to stay ignorant. But, not too surprisingly, they didn't even tackle the subject. Philippe and Raoul were probably conscious that she was in the room just next to them…

She had almost fallen on an armchair, closing her eyes, holding her tears, until she finally fell asleep, but in a troubled one.

She was suddenly awoken by a very gentle hand shaking her smoothly. As she opened her eyes, turning towards whom she thought to be Raoul, she suddenly drew back, protecting her face as she was almost afraid to be hit. Soliman was standing in front of her, his conqueror smile so large it was more a grimace than a grin.

"What are you doing here? Where are Raoul and Philippe?" cried Christine, when she finally gained her senses back.

"Somewhere," shrugged Soliman. "I simply want to ask you one question, Madame. Can you assure me Mademoiselle de Chagny is in her convent, as your brother stated to me?"

Christine only trembled more. As quick as a viper, Soliman seized her hands, and squeezed them so hard she let go a little cry. For a moment, it hurt so much she thought he was going to clutch them until they were completely grinded.

"Don't oblige me to hurt your pretty face after I rip your hands off, Madame la Vicomtesse. Just answer my question."

For a moment, Christine remained silent. Though the pain was unbearable, it wasn't enough for her betraying her Angel. She wanted him to find happiness, and it wouldn't be by submitting to Soliman that it would happen. She lowered her eyes towards the floor, and simply answered:

"Yes. Céleste is at her convent."

When she opened her eyes, Christine saw that Soliman was gone, and crossed her fingers that he had believed her, though, to be honest, she wasn't at all convinced of it.

But, in the living-room, a wide-smiling Soliman was sitting there. It hadn't been very hard for him to guess that Christine had lied to him. She was such a bad liar.

The puzzle's pieces were just getting together quicker and quicker. And soon, he would be able to carry out his plan.

* * *

**Cliffie! I'm starting to like those. Mwahahaha. **

**Don't forget to let a review, they always make my day!**

**And by the way… I did my annual Lord-of-the-Rings marathon recently (which implies watching all three extended-version films in one day) and… I don't know, but **_**Gollum's Song**_** (the end credits song at the end of **_**The Two Towers**_**) really made me think of Erik… Well, not at all Webber-Erik (until a certain point), but really 110% Leroux-Erik… Am I the only one to think that? Because sometimes, let's face it, Leroux-Erik makes me think of Smeagol… I let you find how. ;) **

**And finally, I just published an E/M phanfic! If you want to take a look at it, it's called **_**Silent Angel**_**. And leave a review please, it will encourage me to continue it. ;) **


	17. Chapter 16

**Another chapter is in the can! Enjoy! (And yes, I had trouble writing the first part of this chapter, so please, I beg you to be merciful…) **

**Answers to reviews: **

**PhantomLilac: **Hello, are you interested in joining the Soliman anti-fan club? President, Erik Destler! XD

**Erik's guest: **Fluffy fluff. ;)

For Raoul and Christine… well, you'll see. And as for the fact they're not safe in the lair… Well, you'll see also. ;)

**Aria: **Whovians and members of Middle-Earth rule the world! And yeah, Pippin rocks. AND ARAGORN. I WANT HIM. XD EOWYN THE BADASS. GALADRIEL. GRUMPY GANDY. (*Mode member of Middle-Earth off*)

Yeah, Christine could be a little tougher… But she's pregnant, and I know that pregnant women crack up a lot more easily, and I think I accidently showed that I don't really have a very high esteem of her… Oh well.

I think that Erik does like to get ticked a bit, though he'll never admit it. XD It brings spice to his relation with Céleste. ;)

And about a good piercing-place… Besides Claire's, nope. XD

**Lydia the tygeropean: **Thanks! ;)

**PhantomFan01: **My phanfic will not be complete without an "Erik and Céleste torture Soliman" scene. XD

**Disclaimer: (Gosh, I'm getting tired of writing this.) I do not own anything coming from Kay and ALW, and Leroux stuff belongs to the public domain. **

* * *

**Chapter 16**

Christine didn't know for how long she had stayed in her bedroom, afraid of even moving. This situation could not continue, and the pressure was just getting more and more intense. She had the impression, for a moment, that the walls of her room were going to squeeze her until she didn't have any breath, and that they would only let her go when she would have yelled what she knew. Raoul at least had to know how Soliman had treated her, and maybe it would convince him to retain himself from attacking the Phantom. Anyway, she didn't have to tell her everything… But she was such a bad liar. By experience, she knew it a bit too well.

_Daddy Daaé, help me. Please, I beg you! _

It was only after ten minutes which seemed to Christine ten hours that finally, she heard a gentle knock on her door. Not even daring to answer in any way, she remained silent, retaining herself from shouting while the door was opening. And finally, when she saw Raoul's silhouette, she breathed like if she had been deprived of air for a long time.

"Christine? Christine, what is the matter?"

Raoul rushed to Christine, who remained silent, looking at the floor, hiding her face from him. He took gently her hands in his, but it was then that he saw the bruises, which stood up very well from their aristocratic white color.

"What happened, Christine? How did you get hurt like this?"

Christine's head became even lower, until Raoul, delicately but firmly, brought it up, forcing her to look into his eyes. And now, it was quite easy for him to see all the fear and the sadness which inhabited them.

"Christine… please. Tell me."

It was only then, with a very weak voice, almost a murmur, that she finally answered: "Soliman."

Raoul's eyes widened of shock. And for a moment, he wondered if that was the reason why she seemed so terrified of Soliman, since she had come back from Céleste's home.

"Did he… hurt you like this before?" Raoul's voice was as calm as he could, but the tremble which could be heard was a very evident sign of his anger.

With a very weak smile, which was of course trying to be reassuring, Christine nodded negatively.

"Why has he done this to you?"

Raoul heard Christine gasp, than nothing else, like if suddenly, she had lost not only her breath, but also her voice. She closed her eyes, like if she was thinking intently, and then reopened them.

"He… he wanted to know if Céleste really was at her convent."

"That's it?" cried Raoul, dazed.

"Yes." The vicomte looked into his wife's eyes, trying to see if, because she was scared, she was lying to him. But he saw very quickly that it wasn't the case. So…

"Christine… Do you know why Soliman would want to know if Céleste is at her convent?"

Like a child taken by surprise in some stupidity, Christine lowered her head, blushing nervously. And, as soon as she made this gesture, she immediately wanted to slap herself. She knew it. She was a bad liar.

_Father, father, why did you abandon me?_

_Or must I tell him? _

_Well, Raoul, prove me now that you love me. _

"Raoul, I know what you, Philippe and Soliman are planning to do."

"What?"

"Raoul, please, I'll tell you everything. Just promise me one thing."

Raoul sighed. He was starting not to like the sound of all this.

"What is it?"

"I want you to leave _him _alone."

As she saw Raoul hesitating, she started to tell him everything she knew, including what concerned Céleste. Christine would have liked to remain silent on this chapter, but her sister-in-law was too important of an element in this puzzle. And anyway, as she talked, she was slowly starting to scheme a plan to save the Phantom. For so long, she had prayed for his redemption. She had been judged unworthy of being its instrument by Heaven, and she was somehow thankful for it. She didn't feel strong enough for such a charge, and to sacrifice a life with Raoul for Erik was just too much to ask. But for Christine, it was impossible that God, in His mercy, had for ever shut His doors to Erik. But as the old French adage says: _"Aide-toi, le Ciel t'aidera"_ which means here "Help yourself, Heaven will help you", Christine was willing to do anything to help him find happiness, or else she would consider herself as his murderer. For so many years, he had been a fatherly figure to her, and though that wasn't really his purpose, Christine knew that without him, she would have never recovered from her father's death.

As she finished her story, the shadow which had invaded Raoul's figure frightened her. Well, he had a good reason for it: knowing that your sister is in your worst enemy's lair, that her fiancé brutalized her and your wife doesn't make anyone smile. Immediately, Christine added:

"What I want you to do, Raoul, is to go there with Philippe and Soliman, as planned. Negociate with _him_, please. Tell him to give you back Céleste and that _he_ has to leave the country, and in exchange, you won't kill him or bring him to the police. Please. I'll feel responsible for _his_ death if you don't do this. I don't feel well these days, Raoul… I… I don't want to lose the baby." As she said that sentence, Christine took her husband's hand delicately and placed it on her abdomen. "Please… I know it's hard. But that's all I ask of you."

Raoul didn't lift his head. He could feel Christine's hand trembling on his. He could feel the baby move. No. He didn't want Christine to have a miscarriage because of all this. He didn't want Christine to cry because of what he was about to do. But what ticked him the most was the part about Céleste.

"So Céleste has become a patroness and never told us?" he started, as calmly as he could.

"I understand why."

"Well, she did tell me when we went to see _Hannibal _that she wished to become a patroness."

"And she probably thought _he_ was gone and she decided to become a patroness then. But she was probably afraid of your reaction… I was in the way, wasn't I?" Christine added, with a nervous laugh.

Raoul nodded slightly, as he thought of his wife's last sentence. Yes, since she had crossed the Chagnys' door, Christine had always been some sort of obstacle for Céleste. She was simply everything his sister could never be. He remembered how, suddenly, she wasn't allowed to go and play with Christine and him. He remembered the violin lessons she took with M. Daaé. He remembered the Swedish violinist saying that Céleste could be a professional musician, if she wanted. He remembered the twinkle in her eyes, when she had heard those words. Was Céleste frustrated that contrarily to Christine, she had been forbid from showing her talents to the world? Of course she was. Had the Phantom seduced her with the promise that her violin-playing would be recognized and admired? No. Céleste wasn't taken in that easily.

"Do you know anything else? How it all… happened?"

"No," Christine answered. "I told you what I know: she encountered _him _when she had become a patroness, and somehow, she knows more about Soliman then you. There must be a good reason why she has teamed up with _him _so neither he or she will fall in his clutches. You know how she is, don't you?"

"Of course," replied Raoul. He knew his sister well enough to discern that she was sufficiently intelligent to forbid herself from any stupid or too-risky enterprise! So obviously, Soliman had many secrets… From who she held them, he had no idea… At first, he suspected Erik to have told tales to Céleste. But it just seemed so unlikely… she wasn't naïve at all…

Feeling Christine's glare on him, he came back to good old solid Earth, and to what he would have to decide. For a moment, he wanted to lift up his eyes towards the ceiling, to shout: "Why?" But he only looked into Christine's eyes. And he was stopped, and almost terrified by their pleading, almost desperate dimness.

He would do it. But only for her.

"I'll try to convince Philippe and Soliman to do things that way, Christine. But believe me; I'm doing this for you."

_Because if it was just of me, that madman would have died long ago. _

Immediately, a smile reappeared on Christine's face. At that moment, she immediately thought that she had never loved Raoul more than at that exact instant. And at the same time, the baby placed his tiny hand at the place where he had his posed on Christine's abdomen. The future parents looked at each other, intently.

Even the baby approved this.

* * *

Céleste couldn't tell what time it was. She rather preferred not to know, afraid to see that the hours were passing even slower than usual. Nadir was behind his folding screen, smoking something, and Erik seemed like he had completely forgotten about her existence, sitting at his organ, trying from time to time some chords on them, some very quiet, some so formidable it made her jump. With him completely absorbed, Céleste took advantage of it to explore the lair.

The first discovery she made was just behind a curtain. To her eyes revealed a library, filled, according to Céleste's quick estimate, with about two hundred books. Swiftly, with the shadow of a smile, she rushed towards them, having found the way of healing her start of boredom. Her eyes quickly read the books' titles. She could see that some of them were written in foreign languages. She knew a few herself: English, German, Italian, and very little Spanish. Some titles were written with characters totally unknown to Céleste, and some even reminded her of some illustrations she could see in the Arabian tales book of her childhood.

Finally, she took some sort of atlas, and sat down on cushions which seemed to be present for the reader. She traveled through the book, with its illustrations, some of them being even in color, of places she had never seen. Sometimes, when she saw a picture that pleased her more, she would close her eyes, dreamily, to imagine she had wings and that she was visiting those places. Then she would open them again, to come back on Earth. It was better not to dream too much. Life was so disappointing, after all.

She didn't know for how long she had remained there, when voices suddenly broke the silence and sort of awoken her, like if she had been in some sort of semi-sleep during the whole time she lingered in the library. Slowly, she lifted the curtain, to see, to her great surprise, Meg, talking with animation to Erik and the Daroga. Immediately, when the ballerina saw Céleste, she rushed towards her, like if she had completely forgotten the two men's existence.

"Céleste! Your brothers are here, with Soliman! M'man (By "M'man", Meg meant of course Mme Giry) saw them, and she has told me to come here by the short way as fast as I could, and unseen, since it's the way Raoul knows and that's probably the one they will be taking. I know how the traps work, so I didn't get caught in them… But it seems like since Soliman also knows how they work, they might be here any minute…"

As quick as a gust of wind, so quickly Céleste felt almost dizzy, Meg turned to Erik:

"M'man has told me you know the undergrounds well, and that we can get to them from here."

"Indeed," Erik answered. "But I'm not the only one, and we won't be able to hide there for very long," he added, gloomily.

"M'man said you could all hide in our apartment, the one we rented when the Opera Populaire had been burned. The lease lasts for a year, so we still own it."

"And at what address is it?"

"1851, Avenue de l'Île d'Or. We're in the basement."

"Perfect. Do you remember if there is some gully hole near?"

Meg closed her eyes, thinking intently.

"Yes, there was one just in front of our window. We could go into the apartment unseen thanks to the window!" Meg clapped her hands and made a little jump, happy to see they would succeed in this.

"Yes, that's all very nice," said the Daroga. "But all of us in the same place… It seems like some sort of mousetrap to me."

For a moment, silence reigned on the four people assembled there. It was only Céleste, lifting her head from the ground, who replied, in a clear voice:

"Monsieur Erik could come with me at the convent where I used to teach. I'm sure we could hide there."

"Wait, do you expect me to hide in a nunnery?" Erik asked, his voice full of sarcasm. "What's next? You'll disguise me as a nun as some sort of camouflage?"

"Seriously, I'm just about to let you find another hiding place," Céleste replied, looking wryly at Erik, reprising the exact same words he had himself used for Nadir, earlier. The Phantom immediately understood the reference, and looked unsympathetically at Céleste, who didn't even quail and lifted up one of her eyebrows cheekily, satisfied to see that she had won this point, at least. The Daroga rolled his eyes, while Meg bit her lip, trying very hard not to laugh in front of each person's reaction.

"I have a complete trust in the Mother Superior. I know she will do anything to help me." Céleste finally said.

Erik shrugged, and headed towards his organ, grabbing a bag where he inserted all the scores which were spread all around. Céleste, when she saw that he had accepted his plan, rushed to the swan bed, where she seized her bag, still full of all her belongings. The Daroga had also made a very quick luggage, and finally, guided by Erik, who had seized a torch, the four headed towards the back of the lair's cave, to see an opening, giving on a sort of tunnel. And ten minutes later, they arrived in what Meg and Céleste, at first, thought it was some sort of sewer, though there was no water, where the brown-stone walls were carved with skulls almost everywhere and sometimes, strange gargoyle-like creatures. They had entered the Paris catacombs.

Just at the moment where Philippe, Raoul and Soliman were entering the lair.

* * *

**So here you are! Suspense… **

**I'll admit it, I didn't make much research on the catacombs, but I will for the next chapter. Promise… **

**I didn't receive many reviews on my new Phanfic! I was hoping a bit more, like three or four… Oh well, I'll probably post the next chapter Saturday, so I hope I'll get a little bit more then… **

**And now… I want to hear it from you! Why do you think Céleste and Erik should end up together? Of course, *SPOILER! SPOILER!* that will happen, *END OF SPOILER!* but why? What do they have in common? What would make them a couple? Tell me what you think in a review! ;) **


	18. Chapter 17

**New chapter! Enjoy, dearies! (Yes, OUAT fans, I love Rumple.) **

**Answers to reviews: **

**PhantomLilac: **Sarcastically gorgeous XD Yup, everyday life will never get boring for them indeed…

And sorry, Erik has already named Céleste vice-president… I tried to explain to him what democracy is, but it's no use… *Sigh*

**Igenlode Wordsmith: **Raoul on cat-burglar mode… WHY? XD

I just had to insert that Erik/Christine/Céleste awkward moment… XD It's interesting, after all, to see what Erik's reaction could be if he sees Christine and Céleste in the same room, now…

Well, Erik chloroforming Céleste to be obliged to wake her up after does give us an idea of her character… The only way of shutting her up is to make her faint. XD And if Céleste had brought her shawl, Erik wouldn't have lent her his cape… Tee-hee.

Erik does normally sleep in the swan bed… I don't know, in this story, since he isn't the "Living Corpse" and that he has what I call the "25th anniversary disfigurement", I don't really see why he would sleep in a coffin. But what you said about it made me imagine Erik trying to sleep while Nadir is snoring, and that, exasperated, he just slams the coffin's lid… XD Anyway, why would he have a guest bed?

Talking about beds… There is one thing I would have loved to see Erik do in the movie… Just seeing him just after the Masquerade crushing on the swan bed and moaning at the same time, and just staying there… It's just so cute… XD

Poor bullied Erik… OMG, now I'm seeing Erik doing a sad puppy face… XD

Soliman is getting careless because he's a bit too self-confident for his own sake… a bit like Erik, actually. ;)

Céleste undressing and stumbling on the Persian, with Erik who hears them cry, makes a face-palm and goes "Oh sh*t." THAT WOULD HAVE BEEN EPIC. XD

About Erik's clothes supplier… I didn't think of that… But I think his supplier receiving a different size for the women clothing would shrug and say to himself: "Oh, he has a new mistress now." XD

And yes, it takes Erik Destler and Céleste de Chagny to drive Nadir Khan crazy! XD

The convent? It isn't that easy to find someone there… There are tons of bedrooms there (or cells, if you prefer), it's a rather enclosed place… I think that's the reason why Jean Valjean, for instance, hid there for so many years without being found by Javert… And you'll get to meet the nuns, don't worry. XD (Now I'm seeing Soliman entering by mistake a nun's cell and getting totally knocked out by her. XD)

The only way Erik can be safe is to leave the country. He could start off a new life, and everything, since he isn't searched for murder in other countries… And Christine knows that if he wants to bring Céleste with him, he will. ;)

And no, Raoul has never been advised by Philippe that Céleste had become a patroness, for his mental sake. XD

Raoul does think very well of Céleste, indeed. After all, when his parents died, Céleste was a bit his second mother. And (involuntarily) I think she gave him a lot of her own courage and nobleness. I'll develop on that later. ;)

Remember (probably that wasn't really clear…), Raoul knows that Céleste is with Erik. So the bargain will go like this: "Free Céleste, and we'll let you run away." Yes, Christine can be intelligent sometimes. XD

**Lydia the tygeropean: **You resumed it very well. ;)

**Aria: **It's true that Céleste is a lot more Erik's equal than Christine. And I think that that is what Erik needs: someone who can stand up to him. ;)

Well, there's a very good reason why Christine demands that in exchange of Erik's life, he has to leave the country: it's the only thing Raoul will accept, since he doesn't want Erik around Christine and now Céleste. He can't just stay there. And well, if Erik leaves the country, he is only researched for murder in France, so in another country, he would already be safer… You see what I mean? ;) And he's smart and resourceful enough to build himself a new life… But the thing is, Erik and the Opera Populaire… it's a long story. ;)

Erik and Céleste arguing… Gosh, it will never stop. XD

The nunnery? Hey hey. ;)

You can join the Soliman anti-fan club… Inside my miiiiiiiiiind… *out*

**Erik's guest: **You're very welcome. ;) It's a great idea to use them, since the lair is, after all, underground. :D And yes, I guess that when Mme Giry wasn't available (especially during the time where Erik was pretending to be dead or gone just after the Opera Populaire's fire), he was using the underground. ;)

**PhantomFan01: **Love of music… *swoons* And don't worry, they didn't find her… Not yet. Mwahaha.

**inujisan: **A maze of skulls… Mwahahaha. XD

**I must say I'm surprised that no one pointed out that on certain points, Céleste and Erik have a similar personality! Oh well… Maybe that's less evident… You'll see that more later on. **

**Disclaimer: (This goes for all the other chapters, because I'm tired of writing this.) I do not own anything coming from Andrew Lloyd Webber's **_**Phantom of the Opera**_**, nor Susan Kay's **_**Phantom**_**. Anything coming from Gaston Leroux belongs to the public domain.**

* * *

**Chapter 17**

_This just isn't my day. _

Basically, this was the main sentence which tortured Raoul de Chagny's mind.

That afternoon, he had got ready, putting on worn off clothes and a pistol, and gently, kissed Christine, repeating to her the promise he had made to her. He would keep it. But only for her.

While he, with Philippe and Soliman, was heading towards the Opera Populaire, Raoul didn't participate to the conversation between his brother and the Shah's brother. He felt too sick for that. He even couldn't understand how they could just chatter like this. This wasn't just some party. And for the first time, Raoul was starting to think of the Phantom as a person. But to say that he was approaching of the point of pity, there was still a world separating him from it. And let's not talk about compassion…

For the first time since almost a year, Raoul got off the carriage and gazed at the Opera Populaire, memories invading his mind. It was half past four, now, and it was already almost dark. He gazed at the sculpture, in front of the Opera house, representing the Greek God of Arts, Apollo, with his lyre, remembering that it was just beside that sculpture that he had declared himself to Christine and that they had sworn to love each other, and that he would protect her. He remembered how they had, for a moment, thought there was someone near Apollo's lyre… But there was no one. At least, in appearance. Raoul was more and more convinced, later, that the Phantom was there. And now, he was wondering if the madman wasn't hiding there right now, gazing at them and interiorly laughing at them. Raoul, of course, knew the Phantom was no supernatural creature… But still, he felt nervous, and though Soliman had assured them he knew almost every twist the Angel of Death had invented, Raoul still didn't feel too reassured.

But he entered the Opera house anyway.

After all, being brave isn't about not being scared of who or what you are going to meet and what you are going to do. When such a thing happens, it's when somehow, you are not conscious of the dangers which are awaiting you. Being brave is to be afraid… but going on anyway.

Raoul recollected, with an inner smile, of everything Céleste had taught him. Now, he was realizing how much his sister had been a model for him, especially when their parents had passed away, and that slowly, Philippe and Céleste had become his replacement parents. His sister never seemed scared of anything. Perhaps she was, sometimes, but she never showed it.

He remembered, suddenly, the night where he was about four years old, and she was six, and that there was that big summer storm outside. Raoul was terrified of all those loud noises, and hiding as deeply as he could under his sheets didn't help at all in stopping the loud noises. Going into his parents' room would mean big trouble, and going to see Philippe would mean that his fourteen-year-old brother would just laugh at it and call him a coward. Raoul hated when that happened… Though back then, at that very moment, it was sort of true.

The only option left was to go and see Céleste. The two had never really been close before, but the little boy had told himself that since girls were scared a lot easier than boys, well, maybe he would find courage by protecting her of all the scary monsters that were roaring outside.

When, timidly, he had opened the door, he had the great surprise of seeing Céleste standing in her bed, her eyes glimmering, and, as she saw her brother entering, she had simply said: "Isn't it exciting?"

And immediately, Raoul had felt his sister's courage and somehow fascination for the storm filling him up.

He had approached his sister's bed story, and had cuddled up near her, looking at the storm raging from the window. Then, suddenly, a gust of wind had opened the window. The two children had gasped, and Raoul had felt Céleste's hand clutching his more tightly. But she didn't blink one bit.

Many years later, as he had rushed to go and save Christine to the Phantom's lair, he had thought, for a very brief moment, of that time when he had sworn to go on with his duties, even if he was scared or repugnant of fulfilling them.

Besides the Phantom-chase that was coming, the other thing that was genuinely annoying Raoul was the fact they could meet MM. Firmin and André, so they would make some embarrassing remark about the Chagnys' presence..

Thankfully, Soliman, as he had told them, had become a patron, to get closer to the Phantom, so, with him accompanying them, their presence wouldn't be too surprising for the other onlookers who weren't necessarily aware of the tragedy of about a year earlier. But Soliman couldn't do this alone, and the last key he needed to end the Angel of Death's nuisance was the road to his lair. And Raoul was the one who knew how, for he had gone to the undergrounds once, to save Christine. Now, the team only hoped not to meet MM. Firmin and André,

"Vicomte. It's been a while."

While they were heading towards the corridor where the entrance to the secret passageway to the undergrounds was, a clear contralto voice stopped them, and Raoul recognized it immediately. As Soliman, Philippe and Raoul turned towards it, they saw Mme Giry, absolutely impassive. And Philippe, though he didn't know her very well, he knew by Raoul the part she had played in the entire affair a year ago, and thought, for a moment, that he wouldn't want to have her as an adversary at a game of poker.

"Madame Giry," answered Raoul, politely, bowing his head. Though the ballerina mistress had helped him once to save Christine, today was a whole other matter. He didn't dare to look into her eyes, afraid that her piercing gaze would disclose everything.

"What business brings you here, vicomte, with your brother, I believe?" asked Mme Giry, always with her inexpressive mask on. "Have you decided to offer your patronage to the Opera house again?"

The uneasiness which was dominated Raoul had sort of instinctively rubbed off on Philippe. And it was almost with a certain relief that Soliman, his arrogance fully displayed, intervened.

"I must admit everywhere we go in the Opera house, Madame, you are everywhere," he started. "For a ballerina mistress, you are quite dominant… Who gives you this power, tell me?"

Without even blinking, Mme Giry, respectfully but firmly, answered:

"I've been in the Opera Populaire for many years, monsieur. The managers know they can honor me with their trust."

"No wonder, Madame," Soliman answered, with the "Madame" almost sounding like an insult.

Mme Giry was about to answer, when suddenly, she saw, just behind Soliman, a presence which made a little cheeky grin appear on her till-then motionless face. The Shah's brother, lifting up a brow at this unexpected behavior, turned quickly around… to see La Parilla.

"Well, mi amor, the old fool is busy tonight with something to do with his ghosts," started the prima donna, wrapping her arms around Soliman's neck. "So tonight…"

The Shah's brother didn't pay too much attention to the Chagny brothers' reaction. Anyway, it wasn't really grave, or even uncommon to see an engaged or married man having a mistress… If he did pay attention, he would have seen a shocked Raoul, furious of seeing that the man who had declared to love his sister had a mistress, and all this Phantom-hunt started to seem like some sordid settling of scores. And more than ever, he was disgusted, and the promise he had made to Christine was starting to look a lot easier to execute. And Philippe? Well, that didn't surprise him too much. And he was even getting envious. La Parilla already seem to have more spice than Domenica Sorelli… Though… it did tick him a bit that his sister's future husband had a mistress.

"Later," he answered, softly but firmly. "But don't worry… Tonight, I'll bring you a mask." He whispered, in a way neither Philippe nor Raoul could hear them. And the smile they exchanged showed that the prima donna had understood perfectly well what Soliman meant. She would get her revenge from that horrible night where her renowned beauty had been insulted. Because, well… the thing La Parilla loved most was, of course, herself.

As the prima donna, finally, moved away, the men realized that during the Parilla intermezzo, Mme Giry had disappeared. Without further ado, Soliman pressed Raoul to bring them to the passageway he knew, for, thankfully, it was the fastest path to the Phantom's lair.

Meanwhile, in her chamber, Mme Giry had sat on her bed, trembling, praying that Meg, who had took that same passageway a few minutes ago, to go and warn Erik, Nadir and Céleste of Soliman and the Chagnys' presence, would be fast enough not to encounter them…

* * *

When finally, they had entered the passageway, leading to the seemingly never ending staircase going round, and round, and round… memories overwhelmed Raoul's mind. He could almost hear: _"Hand at the level of your eyes…"_ like if it was muttered by the real wandering souls of the Opera Populaire. And, mentally, he was preparing himself for Céleste to appear, as the Phantom's willing prisoner, and then, the bargain: Céleste's freedom, in exchange of the disappearance of the Opera Ghost from the Populaire and from France.

Meanwhile, Soliman, like a sightless, held some sort of staff he would brandish in front of him, taping on the floor to see if there was any trap. From time to time, there was effectively one which started his effect, thankfully, not on them, but into the emptiness. And each time, Soliman knew exactly how to stop it, in a way they could go through safely. And somehow, though it was supposed to be reassuring, Raoul just felt more and more insecure, while it wasn't him at all who should be this way.

When finally, they had entered the lair by some sort of entrance which was on the side of it, Soliman muttered the almost magic sentence: "Hand at the level of your eyes…" and immediately, they all did so. Slowly, expecting to see the Phantom suddenly appearing at any moment (and Raoul expecting Céleste to appear also), they wandered through the lair, together, their gun charged in their hands to defend themselves just in case, and which would force Erik to obey and follow them.

But they searched, and searched, and it became more and more evident that the Phantom had left.

"Where is he?"

Soliman's almost roaring voice made both Raoul and Philippe jump.

"Maybe he's wandering somewhere else," said Philippe prudently. "We could hide here and take him by surprise when he'll come back."

"No, he's gone all right," Soliman replied, trying to calm down his exasperation. "That whor… that ballet mistress probably found a way to warn him… I'll have her questioned…"

Immediately, Raoul tried to save Mme Giry, though he was getting more and more distressed at the second. If the Phantom wasn't there… Céleste wasn't there. And where was she now?

"I don't think she did anything, Soliman. After all, she did help me to save Christine, and we arrived to the lair by the short way. It's impossible that she could have arrived before us and had _him _escape at the same time."

Soliman shrugged almost angrily, while Philippe, in a friendly manner, tapped him on the shoulder:

"Well, it's a shame we won't get to do any sport, today, but perhaps he'll finally understand that he has to fear us!"

But already, Raoul wasn't listening anymore. He was, in a certain measure, relieved to be freed, at least for an undetermined amount of time, from the promise he had made to Christine. But now, he was the only one to know that Céleste was somewhere in Paris with the Phantom, and it was now absolutely to find them. For a moment, he was tempted of telling everything to Philippe and Soliman…

But something he couldn't describe was holding him from doing such a thing.

Was it the hand of God, pointing in such a mysterious way the path of redemption to them?

Or was it the voice of the devil whispering at his ear, dragging them all to damnation?

* * *

The little group, slowly but surely, walked throughout the catacombs, to finally cross many other tunnels, to arrive to what looked like a sewer. Still holding his torch high, Erik was opening the march, followed by Céleste, holding her bag in one hand and her violin case in the other, with Meg just beside her, and the Daroga just behind. During the whole journey, they had all remained silent, and didn't gaze at all at each other. It was only when Meg, whose hand was brushing against the sewer walls, suddenly screamed, that the silence was broke. Accidently, her hand had distractively touched a corpse, hanging by a rope attached to a beam. Erik turned around, looking very annoyed, and his torch, at the same time, lit up the two girls' faces. While the little ballerina was still trembling, Céleste, though she was pale, didn't blink one bit. Immediately, Meg blushed, saying nervously:

"I'm sorry… I cry easily, I'll admit it."

"I can see that," Erik replied, darkly. "We're not the only ones to come here… But I know what to do if we have an inopportune meeting."

He had said the last in a more menacing way, and Meg and Céleste couldn't help shivering, since they both knew what he meant… Suddenly, Mlle de Chagny felt that the torch was now lighting more her face. She lifted her eyes, to see that Erik was studying her attentively. For a moment, she confronted his gaze, retaining herself from asking him: "So what?"

"Are you frightened?" he finally asked her.

Céleste breathed, and answered calmly: "No."

She wasn't lying. Yes, to see a corpse had shocked her and disgusted her authentically, but to say that she was scared… No. Even if she was, she was too proud to admit it, and especially to Erik. And… it was strange to say, but having him with her in this cold and dismal place was somehow reassuring.

As he heard her laconic answer, Erik got closer, until he was maybe at a few centimeters of her face. Céleste didn't dare to move.

"Then you're not nearly frightened enough."

Puzzled by his last sentence, Céleste didn't pay any attention to Meg and to the Daroga, and continued to walk silently, trying to understand what the Phantom meant.

"We're here."

Mlle de Chagny gasped, not realizing that many minutes had passed since she had remained silent, immured in her thoughts and her puzzlement. She could see rungs built in the walls, and quickly, in an almost feline way, Erik climbed then, to knock a bit on the ceiling and to reveal an opening which lightened them all. It was the gully hole, just beside the Girys' apartment, that Meg had talked about to the Phantom a few hours earlier.

For a moment, Erik got out of the sewer by the hole, and meanwhile, Céleste, Meg and the Daroga could hear a very dull clinging. After the noise stopped, the Phantom immediately came back, and descended the rungs as swiftly as he had climbed them.

"The window is opened so you two can enter unseen," Erik announced to Nadir and Meg. "Unfortunately, you'll have to repair what was holding it closed. It doesn't look like a robbery, it's like you broke from the inside, don't worry."

"Thank you," said Meg, with a smile. Making sign to the Persian to follow her, the ballerina immediately headed towards the rungs and climbed them, followed closely by her companion. And soon, Erik and Céleste were left alone in the darkness only fought by the torch, as Meg closed the gully hole.

"So… where's that convent of yours again?"

"It is on the Avenue du Sacré-Coeur. It's pretty much the only building on that street. Just in front, there's a little park… But it's pretty much only the students who go there, and they're actually in vacation. So I don't think we'll meet anyone."

"No, especially that it will be night when we'll arrive there. He'll take us at least three hours to go there."

"Well…" Céleste said, mischievously. "You'll have plenty of time to get used to the idea of being in a nunnery."

Erik mumbled something incomprehensible, and without further ado, he parted, followed closely by Céleste, who couldn't help from showing a wide smile.

They spent about half an hour without saying a word, when finally, Mlle de Chagny, who had tried to find some sort of conversation without finding anything, and who had gazed at the Phantom's bag, remembered that he had brought all his music sheets with him. Probably all his work… Why not talk about that? Erik was perhaps not very talkative… But the silence which was surrounding them was becoming heavy.

"So what are you composing right now?" she finally asked.

Erik stopped, and looked at her for a moment, surprised, before snorting and continuing his pace. "Why do you want to know?"

"Because." Céleste shrugged. "By the way, the aria you gave at the Masquerade Ball was beautiful. I tried to play it, you know. It's beautiful… truly."

"Really?" Erik still wasn't looking at her, but Céleste could feel a hint of excitement in his voice. And she couldn't help smiling somehow maternally.

"Yes… it made me think of a snow storm, you know," she added. As she continued to walk, Céleste thought for a moment of the Masquerade Ball night. She thought of her Snow Queen costume. The aria. Gustave Daaé's tales… And the coincidence formed in front of her eyes.

"It's funny, you know… The dress I had for the Masquerade, the aria… Well, when I was a little girl, _The Snow Queen _was my favorite story… How did you know?"

A shadow of a smile appeared on Erik's lips. For a moment, he wanted to tell her how much she looked like the title character, with her force, her beauty and at the same time, her despair… but he couldn't, of course. He simply answered:

"I just did."

No more was said between them. But the silence was now sweet and appeasing.

Two hours passed quickly, as they crossed the catacombs with their walls made of skulls again, then to more tunnels and another sewer. Erik, finally, stopped in front of rungs.

"We're here," he said.

He climbed, followed closely by Céleste, who had placed her bag on her shoulder, and held her violin in one hand, while the other was seizing the rung. Erik, arrived on top, opened the gully hole, got out, and helped Céleste to get out, to immediately close everything just after. Immediately, the young woman took a deep breath, happy to be back in the open air, and she gazed at all the stars which had now invaded the sky. She looked around her. The street was just behind them, and it was desert. The convent's entrance was just in front of them.

"It's up to you, now," Erik declared, handing the torch to her.

With a smile, Céleste took it gently, and headed towards the door leading to the lay sister's post.

* * *

**And here you go! How was it? Tell me in a little review! ;) **

**And today's question is… Who is your favorite POTO character and why? ;) **


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